Lessons
by Amerie0227
Summary: HPXOVER - Sequel to UnExpected - Seeing much, suffering much and studying much, are the three pillars of learning – throw magic, demons, and hormones in the mix and this year at Hogwarts was set for one major learning experience.
1. Chapter 1

**Lessons**

By Amerie

It was normal.

Mundane.

Routine even.

Hunt. Fight. Stake. Dust. Move on.

She had done it thousands of times before. Each heart staked meant another life saved. And that was what she did. What she was destined to do. She was chosen to save the world. So why was it all starting to feel so…meaningless?

Absently brushing off the dust that had settled on her clothing, Buffy scanned the rest of the cemetery with disinterested habit. But there was nothing out there. Luckily, only one vampire had been set to rise that night. A vampire that was now dust in the wind. Her job was done. A job she wasn't sure was hers anymore.

_Into every generation a slayer is born_ – and therein lay the problem. _A_ slayer. _One_ girl in all the world. But now there were two. She had died and now there were two in a previously ever steady one. What did that even mean? Her predestined destiny was no longer her own; it was one she shared with another girl – a girl who relished it.

Faith was Slayer incarnate. She loved the fight and the blood and the title, even if a little a too much at times – and a little reckless in others. Faith didn't see beyond her destiny, didn't consider the possibility of a future outside of it. But Buffy did. It seemed to be all she could think about and she wondered if maybe…maybe she wasn't meant to have one. Wasn't meant to have one since she was fourteen…

_"Well, there's gotta be some way around it."_

_"Listen. Some prophecies are, are a bit dodgy. They're, they're mutable. Buffy herself has, has thwarted them time and time again, but this is the Codex. There is nothing in it that does not come to pass."_

_"Then you're reading it wrong."_

_"I wish to God I were! But it's very plain! Tomorrow night Buffy will face the Master, and she will die."_

And she had. She had faced the Master. She had died. And then she had killed him. She had fulfilled her destiny and then some. But what of her now? Xander had given her a new lease on life, but his gift was not part of the twisted cosmic plan for her, she knew that. Buffy Summers should've died and stayed dead at fourteen, her destiny finished, but she was walking and talking and breathing and feeling utterly misplaced. Disjointed. Unneeded.

Because Buffy was different.

Buffy was a slayer, but she was no ordinary slayer either. Buffy Summers was a rarity, because Buffy was also a witch. The first witch-slayer in centuries. She was an oddity even in the worlds of the extraordinarily bizarre. A freak among freaks. And then there was that thing. That other thing. The thing that left within her impressions of very dark and powerful magic she still didn't fully understand. The thing that gave her nightmares and a skull and snake on her arm. The thing that possessed her as a child and violated her innocence. That thing known as Voldemort. Yeah, that thing. Oh, and the fact that the most evil wizard of all time was after her, to do God knows what, to get something that may not even be removable. Let's not forget that.

Life had been much easier for Buffy before she had turned thirteen. She knew where she belonged. She was a spoiled, rotten, bossy little witchy brat and she liked it that way. And then Voldemort got his hands on her. And then the Slayer. And now…now what? What was her life now?

When Buffy left Sunnydale a year ago, her replacement had settled in and the Hellmouth had a new guardian. It was now Faith's job to keep the cork in the demonic bottle. And she was great at it. But along the way the brunette had established herself and created a life with Buffy's friends, Buffy's Watcher and Buffy's boy – _ex_-boyfriend. Buffy had come to love Faith and their kinship, but the darker slayer had Single White Female-d her, even if unintentionally. She had taken over her vacated spot, but what could Buffy do? It wasn't as if she was in Sunnydale last year to fight and reclaim what was originally hers. Buffy had her hands full in Scotland, rebuilding another life she had been ripped out of. A life of magic and wonder where people flew on brooms and impossible was made possible with a wave of a wand.

And boy, what a construction that was.

Buffy had left the magical world at thirteen a spoilt child and returned at fifteen a seasoned warrior. And it was a hard adjustment. Resuming life at Hogwarts had not been an easy start. What with her two-yearlong absence from all things wizard. Her sudden return after a sudden exit. The rumors. The gossip. The majority of the student body hating her. Having everyone refuse to believe she had changed. Getting re-sorted into a house she used to bully mercilessly (she had to sleep with one eye open for a month because of that one). Having nearly no friends. Being separated from her loved ones. Suffering through a psychopathic teacher with a pink fetish. The return of her suppressed traumatic memories. Voldemort. The Order. Ron. Harry. Draco – God, even remembering it was giving her a headache. She was surprised she had made it through the wilderness. But she had. She made it through. Buffy dug her heels in and was rewarded with more than she could have hoped for.

Broken friendships had been rebuilt and Buffy had formed unexpected new ones that meant the world to her. She had reestablished a place for herself. She had a nook and cranny of her very own with people she loved and cared for. She thought she had re-found her place in the Wizarding world she had grown up in. She had a home, family, friends…and yet, she felt lost. As if her piece of the puzzle was missing a portion and couldn't interlock properly to complete the picture, any picture.

And then that thing happened where she apparently died again after she had saved Sirius. Something Giles was looking into because one couldn't simply return from the Veil of Death no matter what, not even if you had a rope and anchor. And then there was her magic. The whole imprinted, dark, advanced magic she sometimes unintentionally tapped into and still didn't know the exact depth of the well.

There were still a great many things up in the air – in both of Buffy's worlds. Things that needed tending to and bade many questions with no simple answers. Things that lead to open doors through seamlessly never-ending tunnels of issues. Things that kept pulling her away from her comfort zones and left to feel lost in space.

Buffy's original plan for staying in Sunnydale over the summer was to strengthen her bonds with Willow and Xander and the rest of her friends. To relax and chill and kill a few demons. But being here complicated things because it opened one of the tunnels to so many questions. And she realized how everything was really screwed up. How she was really screwed up. Why was she even in Sunnydale? Did she even belong here? Why was she still a slayer? She had died. It should've taken away everything. Severed those fated ties. This wasn't her destiny anymore. If she died no new potential would be called. Faith was, and should be, resident slayer. So why did Buffy still have the abilities? Why did she still have the dreams? The sense of duty? Why was she allowed to come back? Why –?

It was different.

But she felt it.

It wasn't the usual supernatural tingle in her spine. It was a hum. A hum she had felt before. A hum that strummed her veins and echoed in her blood.

Effortlessly, Buffy pocketed her stake and slid the wand from her arm holster into her awaiting hand. Mind focused and wrist ready.

Something wicked this way comes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lessons**

By Amerie

Narcissa Malfoy was a desperate woman. It was noted in her eyes, her voice, in every fragment of her being. Ready to blow any second from the amount of fear and tension in her mind and soul. She had reached her rope's end. Her only son, her only hope, was set to be destroyed by the Dark Lord in the guise of a mission. A mission that the dear boy had no chance in succeeding. And Narcissa was determined to not let that happen. He was all she had left in this world since Lucius had been locked up in Azkaban after the incident at the Department of Mysteries. Her son would not be made an example of and she will do everything in her power to prevent it; even betray the Dark Lord's command; destroy her own sister if she had to. Which was how she found herself in Spinner's End. In the home, and at the mercy, of Severus Snape.

Bellatrix loathed the man to no end. His very presence had her wand finger itching, but she would not let her sister come alone. Narcissa was a Black and the thought of her begging someone as low as Snape for aid made Bellatrix's stomach churn – and her fear surface. The Dark Lord forbade Narcissa from speaking a word about Draco's mission to anyone. Especially traitors. And that's what Snape was down to his very essence. While the rest of the true Death Eaters had remained loyal, had searched high and low for their master, came to his bidding at once, he had remained in the pocket of Dumbledore, had not delivered the head of Harry Potter or the body of Buffy Summers, all these years. The Dark Lord was mistaken in his unwavering trust in Severus Snape and Bellatrix was aching to dance with joy when his true colors were finally revealed and his body lay twitching on the ground.

Severus did not enjoy explaining himself to anyone, much less to someone as obsessive and unbalanced as Bellatrix Lestrange. But he did so, he explained and answered every one of her questions about his loyalties if only to keep the woman quiet. To shame her into a corner by questioning her about her own belief in the Dark Lord. If the Dark Lord himself trusted Severus who was she, his supposed most loyal servant, his right hand, to question it. And it reeled back her lashing, but just for the moment. Jealousy colored Bellatrix's accusations and she was not ready to put down the sword just yet.

But Severus Snape's loyalty isn't why they were here. No, they were here because of Draco Malfoy, and as it happened, Snape was fully aware of the situation, as Narcissa had assumed, nay hoped, as the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor (no matter what Bellatrix may choose to believe). However, there was nothing to change the Dark Lord's mind. His word was law. And Narcissa was back where she had started. Her son's head was back in the guillotine, but just as the blade began to lower, a jam appeared and a ray of hope spread inside Narcissa Malfoy. A hope wrapped in the Unbreakable Vow.

Severus swore to help Draco any way he could and Narcissa clung to that promise and asked for more. She asked for Severus's life. And, after pausing with an unreadable expression, he agreed.

She held his hand like a lifeline as Bellatrix placed her wand on their linked hands. A tongue of fire drew from the tip and wrapped itself around their pressed palms like red-hot wire as the vow was made.

"Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes?"

"I will."

"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"

"I will."

"And, should it prove necessary…if it seems Draco will fail…will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"

"I will."

If – no – when Draco failed in his mission, Severus would fulfill the Dark Lord's request in his place. And Severus hoped with all his might that Draco will fail. Spoiled and arrogant as he may be, Draco was still very much innocent to the world. Sheltered and smothered by his mother all his life, he had never faced true horrors, true hardships. But Draco was being forced into that world now as punishment for his father's failure. Narcissa was right, the Dark Lord was expecting Draco to fail, to humiliate the Malfoy name even more, and in doing so, inadvertently, he will be destroying Draco's innocence as well. Severus may not care for many things, people especially, but when he did that care surpassed all measure. Draco fell into that category. He may be his godson, but Severus recognized talent and intelligence when he saw it, and Draco was as bright a student as they came. It was a shame that talent was often overlooked and how that lack of acknowledgment was causing Draco to overlook it himself. Draco had the tools to succeed in his mission, but the question was if he had the nerve. A cruel bully he may be, but in his heart, Draco was vulnerable, scared and lonely. He had never been allowed any real, close friends. He was a product of his pureblood, elitist upbringing as no one was deemed _appropriate_ enough for Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy's precious boy. Except, of course, for one. Someone Lucius and Narcissa had previously thought of as a proper match for Draco.

"What about that Summers girl?" Bellatrix sneered, after the vow had been made. "You must know the Dark Lord has plans for her?"

Severus paused, his expression stoic.

"I was made aware, but I was ordered by the Dark Lord to focus my attention solely on Dumbledore and Potter. The Dark Lord has his own plans for the Summers girl, plans he intends to keep to himself until the appropriate time arrives."

Bellatrix's grin turned even more sinister.

"The Dark Lord may have lost faith in you after all," she mocked. "As it happens there are some plans he doesn't mean to keep for himself."

"And what do you mean by that?"

Bellatrix shrugged patronizingly, as if the information was as trivial as the weather of the day. "No need to worry yourself about Buffy Summers, Severus. It's all planned. She'll be well taken care of. She's got plenty of eyes on her."

Plans that made Severus curious and very nervous.

Severus was positive no one knew of Lord Voldemort's exact plans for Buffy Summers. The Death Eaters were not privy to that information yet, not until they would be needed, but they knew what he was after. They knew what made Buffy Summers so special to Lord Voldemort. They knew who she was – _what_ she was. But what they didn't know was how the Dark Lord planned on getting it out of her. Severus could only imagine the horrors that awaited Buffy if the Dark Lord were to have her in his grasp and it sent a chill through his veins.

The night had been a tumultuous one of promises, accusations and wonderings. Bellatrix again questioning Snape's loyalty to the Dark Lord, the Vow he had made to Narcissa, the worry of Draco and the mysteries of Buffy. The outside coldness felt as if it had seeped through the walls. He could feel it wrap around him, trying to strangle him. But the temperature did not bother him. Not when there were more troubling matters that chilled his bones.

_Have you lost your bloody mind?! What in the hell's the matter with you?!_

That's exactly what she would say, and then she'd smack him upside the head and walk away, arms crossed, refusing to speak to him until she calmed down. He could picture it perfectly. Sighing, he sank deeper into his bed and stared at the flower, twirling it at the stem between his thumb and forefinger. The pressed lilac that was enchanted to forever retain its color and potent scent.

_"Boys don't like flowers."_

_"Then don't go skipping around with it then," she said and shoved the lilac back into his hand. "It's enchanted for your information. My mum put a spell on it so it'll always be bright and violet and so that it'll always smell good."_

_ He stared at it and firmly said again, "Boys don't like flowers."_

_ She rolled her eyes and took it back, speaking to him as she placed the flower inside the pages of a book, "You said you liked the way it smells here, well it smells like this because of the lilacs. They're everywhere." She snapped the book shut and gave it to him. "Just take it out whenever you want to smell it. No one has to know."_

_ Draco begrudgingly took the book while he continued to frown and Buffy scowled._

_"See, this is why I try not to be nice to you," she said, and flipped her hair as she marched back into the house._

_ Draco watched her go and he smiled. He didn't want her to be nice. People were always nice to him, because of his father, because he was a Malfoy. He liked it when she was Buffy. Spoiled, bratty, demanding, and, above all, honest. That was much better than being nice. He tightened his grasp on the book and removed the smile from his face as made his way back into the Summers house; not wanting to let Buffy know how much her present actually meant to him. How much he missed the smell of lilacs, of the tress and air that engulfed Buffy's warm home while he was away._

Draco treasured that lilac, and the book it came in, ever since he was eight-years-old. He brought both of them out and stared at the flower more times than he ever imagined he would have. It was a source of comfort when he felt isolated in the large and cold mansion he lived in. It eased his sadness and loneliness all those months Buffy was gone with no clue of where she was. The lilac had become symbolic – bright, beautiful, warm – in what Buffy meant to him, and as he looked at it now, Draco felt a sudden urge to crush it between his fingers.

A knock on his bedroom door stopped Draco from any further action, but he continued to glower in silence at the flower in his hand without offering so much as an 'enter' to whoever was on the other side. Nonetheless, the door slowly pried open, just enough, to make room for a house-elf that looked very much like Dobby, but was a tad shorter and had great, big, brown eyes.

"Sir?"

"What?" Draco snapped impatiently, without looking at the house-elf.

"Young master, your mother wishes to speak you, sir."

"Tell her I'm busy."

"Yes, young master, sir."

The house-elf lowered his head and slowly backed away, but he only managed a step before Draco called out, "Wait. Forget what I said. Where is she?"

"Dining room, sir."

Draco gave a sigh and brusquely ordered the house-elf to, "Get out."

The house-elf closed the door and was gone before Draco finished saying the last word.

Draco knew what his mother wanted to talk to him about and he didn't want to hear it. He made his choice. He wasn't a child anymore. The Dark Lord had chosen him for a reason, and Draco wasn't going to fail. And he wasn't going to hide up in his room either. He would need to face his mother, to prove that he wasn't her little boy anymore. To prove that what the Dark Lord saw in him was genuine and that he knew exactly what he was getting into.

Draco stared at the lilac again. The sudden urge to crush it returning, but the very idea that it could be damaged formed a lump in his throat. It would be much simpler if it didn't exist. If he didn't have a reminder that meant so much to him. If it didn't smell like…

Gently, Draco placed the lilac back into the pages and slammed the book closed. He slipped off the bed, reached underneath the frame to pull out a medium-sized metal box, and placed the box on the mattress. He unlocked its enchanted lock with the flick of his wand, and after it opened, he tossed the book inside – landing on top of the three, unopened letters Buffy had sent him recently. Letters he could barely look at. Draco slammed the lid closed, locked it and shoved the box underneath his bed once again. It was time to put all foolish things aside. It was time to grow up. It was time to draw the line between alliances…and enemies.

And Draco had chosen his side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lessons**

By Amerie

It was much too early. He was tired. His head was aching. But here he was. Here he had to wait. On a weekend of all days. _Bloody Ministry_. He tapped an annoyed finger on his desk. The harsh thumping in sync with the grandfather clock that stood by the door. And after what seemed like hours, the flames in his fireplace finally turned green.

"It's about bloody time," he muttered under his breath and slowly rose from his seat.

The man that came out of the fireplace had streaks of gray in his mane of tawny hair and bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace, even though he walked with a slight limp. There was an immediate impression of shrewdness and toughness, and his yellowish eyes scanned every inch of the room as he strode toward the large, oak desk.

"Quentin," said the man in greeting

"Nice to see you again, Rufus," Quentin replied, extending out his hand. "I haven't had the opportunity to congratulate you on your recent promotion. I'm positive that with your experience you'll bring the position of Minister for Magic to greater heights."

Rufus Scrimgeour shook the man's hand roughly and quickly.

"Thank you. May I?" he asked in the same manner as his handshake, and motioned to the plush, burgundy chair behind him.

"Please," he replied and, stiffly, both men sat down.

"I appreciate you meeting with me so early on a Saturday. I know this must be an inconvenience for you, but my schedule has been rather busy, as you can imagine, with troubled times as they are," said Rufus.

"There's no rest for the righteous," Quentin said, a smug little smile on his face.

"Yes," muttered Rufus in contempt. "Well, let's get right down to business. I've met with the Muggle Prime Minister recently and he has been informed of our situation with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He has also been notified that extra magical security has been added to his staff for his protection."

"Wise decision."

"And I've come to inform you of the same," he continued as if Quentin had never spoken. "We've placed a few Aurors within your staff and have also strengthened the protection charms around your buildings. As you've had such close ties to the Ministry before, I was certain you'd have no qualms about this. A man of your position must understand that certain measures must be taken in times of war."

Quentin Travers frowned. Had no qualms, did he? Quentin didn't like it when the Ministry overstepped its boundaries. He never let Fudge step a toe out of that delicate line the Ministry and the Council shared, and he certainly wasn't going to let the new Minister for Magic do as he pleased. Not in his territory.

"Rufus, I thank you for the assistance, but the Council has its own means of protection. We don't need any additional security, I assure you. Our Shamans have already strengthened our magical barriers and we have placed a group of Ra'lai demons at every possible entryway the moment we were made aware of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You do not need to worry yourself about the Watcher's Council's security. We _can_ defend ourselves," he said pointedly.

Rufus Scrimgeour never cared for Quentin Travers. He had first met the man the day after he had been promoted to Head of the Auror department. All Aurors were briefed, although minimally, on the existence of the Watcher's Council, and of the Vampire Slayer, when hired, in the instance that one day both worlds would need to cross paths, but the Aurors were never told of their specific identities. But part of that would change for an Auror who was promoted. The Head Auror would meet with the Head of the Watcher's Council and be given a more detailed explanation of who the Council was, of their purpose to the world. They would be told of the Slayer, of her responsibility, her skills, but not under any circumstance would they reveal her identity – that was made very clear. It was a very informative meeting, one Rufus found immensely interesting, one he would've enjoyed more if Rufus Scrimgeour and Quentin Travers didn't come to dislike each other from the first handshake. It was a _feeling_ for both of them, an instinct that neither man would bow to the other, and instead of respecting that kind of authority, it had an opposing effect. Mistrust brewed as egos clashed, and from that day on Quentin Travers and Rufus Scrimgeour knew they would never be friends, even acquaintances, for as long as they had to deal with each other.

"Quentin, as powerful as your defenses may be, this a threat you have never faced before," he said in tone tinged with arrogance. "As I recall, the last time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came to power, the Watcher's Council was left untouched because it had been virtually invisible, unknown, to the likes of You-Know-Who. You may not be so lucky this time around. It is not wise to underestimate that which you have not faced."

Quentin may be a lot of things, but he was never one to lose his composure. Even now, as he was on the verge of telling Rufus what he could do with his Aurors and protective charms, Quentin needed to make it clear that the Watcher's Council was not, under any circumstance, under Ministry control.

"As powerful as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may be, and I am aware of how great a threat he is not only to the Wizarding world but to rest of the world as well, I feel I should remind you that the Council is not weak. We have been through many wars before," said Quentin resolutely. "We have faced demons, witches, wizards, enemies of all kinds that neared apocalyptic proportions, and we've managed to save the world time and again – without assistance from the Ministry. And we will continue to do so no matter what new threat may come our way."

When the Ministry and the Council became aware of each other's existence, an alliance between the two worlds had been formed, along with an understanding that each institution was to live by its own rules and that there was to be no interference in the other's matters unless asked. It had been a strict business arrangement, even after Quentin Travers and Cornelius Fudge found themselves to be good friends, over the years that line was still in place. Rufus Scrimgeour was overstepping that line, he knew it, and he didn't care. He had a job to do and that job was to stop Voldemort and save lives, invisible lines and alliances be damned.

"As I recall, it wasn't the Council who faced these wars, it was the Slayer. It is she who faced the demons and has saved the world time and again. And your current Slayer is in America, is she not?" said Rufus, and it unnerved Quentin.

When Fudge had stepped down as Minister he had promised Quentin, and his promise as a friend was all he really had now, that he would not speak a word of Buffy Summers being a Vampire Slayer to anyone. Quentin was positive he had kept that promise, but Rufus's question troubled him nonetheless. Currently, Quentin had two Slayers in America and he hoped Rufus wasn't referring to the one that was little more valuable. The one that could not only slay vampires but jinx them as well. The one Quentin still, in his morbid little mind, thought of as his _secret weapon_. But Rufus had said 'Slayer' not Slayers and that eased his nerves.

"Yes, she is, but you misunderstand. The Slayer is not our defender, she is merely an instrument. When one Slayer dies the next one is called. I'm sure you remember all the details from our first meeting. Where there is one there will be another, but through it all, the Ministry will always stand. The Council fights evil. The Slayer is the instrument by which we fight. The Council remains, the Slayers change. It's been that way from the beginning."

He was smug, arrogant, and stubborn and it was getting tiresome. It was like talking to a wall, but a wall had more sense. At least a wall knew what to keep out. It wasn't about Ministry/Council boundaries, or the amount of power the Council had to protect itself, it was Quentin's pride that was preventing him from accepting the assistance his organization needed. And pride got people killed. Fudge had it and that's why he wasn't Minister anymore.

"Quentin," Rufus said, his tone holding no trace of hostility, of arrogance. Rufus needed to make this man understand that the lives of his Watchers, of his employees, were in his hands, and if he left those hands open everything would fall into darkness. "I understand the limitations between the Ministry and the Council. And though you may have faced your share of wars, you have never faced anything like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He is ruthless, and unlike your demons, he is also clever and intelligent, making him all that more dangerous. His knowledge of the Dark Arts exceeds measurement. But he is not only one man; he has an army of followers. Followers I am sure include more than only wizards and witches. Demons. Vampires. And his numbers are only growing. You know what is best for your Council."

What was best for his Council…what was best for his Council was that it remains a _Watcher's_ Council. To stand on its own two feet. To continue being a force to be reckoned with. To continue with its own identity. That's what was best for his Council. If Voldemort succeeded in overtaking the Ministry, the Council would be the next line of defense. They needed to be strong to do what needed to be done. Their knowledge of magic was not like that of the wizards and witches. It was ancient, powerful, and so different from Voldemort's magic that it may be the only thing that could stop him…if it came to it; if everything else had failed and it were up to the Watcher's Council to end him. The Council must be preserved, guarded for its valuable information. Quentin Travers was that guardian. And he will protect it from anyone he deems a threat to it.

"Please remove your Aurors and your enchantments from our buildings. We will arrange another meeting and discuss our security options, but I will not have any Ministry interference until that time," he said swiftly with no room for discussion.

It was a disappointment. How could one man be so arrogant? So blind? So willing to risk the lives of innocent people for his pride?

Rufus knew that anything else he could say would be futile and he left the argument as it is. He didn't have time to waste on deaf ears.

"All right, Quentin. Have it your way." Rufus rose from his seat and stared down at the man who defiantly remained in his chair. "I'll have my assistant contact yours."

"Until then."

The air remained strained after Rufus left through the fireplace. The hot air that had been exchanged still clinging to the atmosphere.

Quentin leaned back in his chair and mentally reviewed their conversation. The moment Rufus was made Minister for Magic Quentin knew there would be problems.

From their first meeting Quentin knew they would never get along, never see eye to eye, and any respect between them was minimal, nearing nothing but basic courtesies. Neither man would ever admit if the other one was right (as Quentin proved minutes ago). Voldemort was a threat the Council had never faced before, and even if the Council could do without the Ministry's protection, they could not do without their knowledge. The Watcher's didn't know Voldemort as well as the Ministry did, and they would be almost blind to any attack. But no matter the threat, Quentin will not let Rufus and his Aurors stomp around as if they owned the Watcher's Council. He will not let them act as if the Council was under their control. But he will also not risk the lives of his employees if he did not need to. Quentin Travers will open his doors to the Ministry of Magic, he will accept their assistance, but he will not let an imbalance remain between both sides. If Rufus was going to have Aurors inside the Council walls than Quentin was going to have someone inside the Wizarding community. After all, it was only fair.

It was bleeding out into the Muggle world. The headlines in the Daily Prophet attested to that.

The collapsing of Brockdale Bridge causing mass casualties. The murder of Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance. The ruckus in the West Country with its pulled trees and destroyed houses. The strange, near dangerous behavior of Herbert Chorley, one of the Muggle Junior Ministers – likely addled by an Imperious Curse gone awry. Voldemort and his Death Eaters were behind the attacks. Behind the chaos and fear. Muggle minds that bared witness to these events had no doubt been modified. The whole of the Ministry must be working around the clock and it was only going to get worse.

The new Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, had his hands utterly full. As the newspaper in Remus's hand had proclaimed in so many words. The one pictured with Scrimgeour scowling on the front cover. He was a shrewd and cautious man having headed the Auror office before taking his new position after Cornelius Fudge had been forced to resign. He was a good man for the job, but Remus, like others, worried that it might not be enough. That anything they do may not be enough.

But Scrimgeour was much better than Fudge – a man who was left a shadow of his former self. A once portly man, Cornelius Fudge was now thinner, balder and grayer. His once smug and arrogant manner seemed to have weakened. His ego deflated. He held no more credibility in the eyes of Wizarding citizens. A benefit to many given what Fudge knew about certain Slayer affairs, but has kept silent on the matter, thankfully.

There were definitely many things to worry about, but at the moment only two things stood in constant forefront of Remus's mind: Nymphadora Tonks and Buffy Summers.

Tonks – sweet, beautiful, naïve Tonks – how could he have not seen it coming? See the brightness in her eyes when she saw him or the slight blush when he complimented her. How could he have missed the growing adoration with each visit he made to St Mungo's? How could he have missed the excitement he began to feel at the thought of seeing her? Or the rise in temperature whenever she smiled at him? How could he have missed it all? And how many more times could he break her heart before he finally couldn't stand her pain and act on his own emotion by taking her in his arms and confess his feelings. But it couldn't – wouldn't work. He was going to hurt her down the line. He knew it. He was a werewolf. He had no business getting involved with someone as loveable and effervescent as Tonks. He would only end up destroying her. Destroying her light. Her warmth. He'd rather break her heart now – as well as his own. It was the most kindest, merciful thing he could do. If only she would understand.

But as heartbreaking as it was, matters of the heart were not Remus's only concern. At least in the romantic sense.

For all her strength and bravery, Buffy was still very much a sensitive soul. She always tried desperately to hide her emotions, her fears and worry, hoping to shield them from the people she loved. But it was not always so easy, especially around certain individuals who could see past that barrier.

There was something dangerous stirring in Sunnydale. It wasn't in the air. Nor was it charging through the streets. It was written on Buffy's face. Heard in the tone of her voice. But whatever it was, whatever was worrying her was a secret she was not telling. But one thing they were sure of was that it was not her only concern, there was something else knotting Buffy's stomach. The weight on her shoulders seemed too heavy. They could have their assumptions: Voldemort, Hogwarts, the Hellmouth, an end of the world demon. But she wouldn't say a word; she would say that she, that everything, was fine. A very _fine_ lie that was.

_"Buffy. Buffy."_

_ She turned sharply at the second call of her name._

_"Sorry, Remus, I was just…"_

_"Lost in your own thoughts?"_

_"Something like that."_

_"Buffy, I…is there anything you want to talk about?"_

_ Her face shuttered immediately and she stepped away from her bedroom window._

_"It's late. I really need to go out and make sure no nasties are snacking on the innocent populace."_

_ He frowned as she walked past him._

_"I thought Faith was set to patrol tonight?"_

_"She is, but you know what they say, two slayers are always better than one."_

And that was that.

Joyce had noticed it, so had Sirius and Rupert. But Buffy was silent. She was becoming distant. Having been in and out of Sunnydale for weeks, Remus noticed the change. How eager she was to patrol at night, to be alone, when she wasn't so before. In daylight, she was good at pretending. She made jokes and quips, smiled and laughed. But at night…

Something worrisome was going on. May it be something stirring in the bowels of Sunnydale, tied to the Dark Mark on her arm or the questionable doors of Hogwarts – whatever it was, Buffy was not willing to share the source of her robbed concentration or troubled mind. And they worried even more. Because Buffy had a habit of holding it all in. Letting herself drown without reaching for a hand. And they would usually leave her in peace, because eventually she would turn to them, one way or another. But things were different now. Her life, and expectations, were different now. Because now Buffy had more to hide.

And the question was: what exactly was she hiding?


	4. Chapter 4

**Lessons**

By Amerie

_Dear Harry,_

_If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays._ _If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you. Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday, I am yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

And at precisely eleven p.m. on Friday Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore arrived at Little Whinging.

Dumbledore and Harry made themselves comfortable in the sitting room of number four Privet Drive, behind closed doors and silencing spells as what Dumbledore needed to say required immense privacy. And Dumbledore was positive the Dursleys were not ones to offer that privacy willingly.

As the Headmaster replaced his wand in his pocket, after erecting silencing charms, Harry saw that his hand was blackened and shriveled; it looked as though his flesh had been burned away.

"Sir – what happened to your –?"

"Later, Harry," said Dumbledore and it was left at that. "Onto pressing matters. A difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first, I must ask if you have spoken with Sirius recently?"

"I got a letter from him yesterday," Harry replied, his expression brightening at the mere mention of his godfather. "Said he's really enjoying Sunnydale. He's starting to think of it as a second home."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded thoughtfully.

"Such a wondrous place Sunnydale. Despite its heavy demonic presence it is magnificent to see Muggles and magic coincide so harmoniously."

It may be done with a healthy dose of denial, but the Muggles in Sunnydale knew that there was something extraordinary about their little town, and it gave Dumbledore hope that one day the Muggle world will become aware of the Wizarding world and live in peace as one.

"Not to mention it's a Wizarding blind spot," Harry said with a smile.

"Beneficial to underage wizards and wizards in hiding alike," he said, the twinkle in his eye disappearing as soon as it had come, and in its place was a solemn expression. "Harry, as much as Sirius is enjoying his time in Sunnydale there is a crucial reason he has been, and will continue to stay there for the remainder of the summer. After what had occurred in the Department of Mysteries, the Order, with Sirius's permission, has come to a decision. For his protection, for the time being, we've decided it would be best if everyone believed Sirius never returned from the Veil. It's imperative that the Ministry, that the rest of the world, believe that Sirius Black is dead."

A cold feeling settled in Harry's stomach. The idea of pretending that Sirius was dead bothered him. Having felt the loss and pain of his godfather's death, even for a few hours, still lingered in Harry. And he hated the idea of having to pretend that he wasn't alive, no matter the reason. Why would he need to? Sirius wasn't a fugitive anymore. He didn't need to hide.

"But I thought it was alright now," said Harry. "The Ministry realized Sirius was innocent all this time, didn't they?"

"Yes, the Ministry knows they were mistaken, but it is still a very complicated matter," he said gravely. "Although they know of Sirius's innocence he has yet to be formally cleared of all his charges. He will most likely be placed back into Azkaban until his innocence has been officially proven."

"But that's not fair!"

"It is, however, the most logical step. Though, if he is to return I believe his holding conditions will be vastly improved and I am assured that there will be no Dementors involved. But that is the least of our worries." As worrisome as it was of Sirius's possibility of returning to Azkaban, there was someone else who needed to be protected much more. Someone whose secret identity could be unraveled with just a pull of thread if not careful and would most assuredly be put under Ministry surveillance if they were to discover the truth. "The Veil of Death is a mysterious thing, Harry. We know so little but so fear its power. We all know what happens when one passes through it, but it has never been thought possible that one could return from its archway. What Buffy and Sirius have done is more than a mere curiosity, and the Ministry would press to know more if they knew the truth, unraveling information some of us would rather keep hidden."

And that little treasure trove was named Buffy Summers.

A witch and a Vampire Slayer, a secret very few knew in the Wizarding world – despite Buffy's grumbles that the whole world knew her so-called secret by now. And it was a title Cornelius Fudge had been informed of six months ago, and if the lack of interest in Buffy Summers was any indication, Cornelius Fudge still kept that secret to himself, despite stepping down from office. But nobody was willing to take the risk – the chance that whispers might be heard if the Ministry were to find out the truth about Buffy and Sirius's return from the Veil. Not only was it a curious thing having the first witch-slayer in centuries, but it would also put Buffy's abilities into question. Abilities that had very close ties to Voldemort, and how close those ties to Voldemort were knotted. Something everyone was desperate to avoid.

"What about Buffy?" Harry asked, her face coming to mind, knowing she was the one Dumbledore was referring to about information having to be kept hidden. Because Buffy and secrets went together like brooms and flying, cheese and crackers, trouble and, well, Buffy. "She passed through the Veil, too. Does that mean she's also _dead_?"

"No, Buffy Summers is still very much alive to the world. She never passed through the Veil as far as the Ministry is concerned."

Harry furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."

"It is a rather confusing situation, and we would have kept all this a secret had it not been for the fact that there were witnesses to Buffy and Sirius's return from the Archway."

Harry didn't need to be told who they were and his jaw clenched. "Death Eaters."

Dumbledore nodded. "And they were more than willing to share their information with the Ministry in hopes that it could have provided some sort of leniency, any sort of distraction, but as you can imagine, the Ministry was not quick to offer any kind of mercy toward any followers of Voldemort."

"So the Ministry didn't believe them about Sirius and Buffy?"

"They questioned it, but their investigation was very limited due to the circumstances of the situation and they let the matter be. However, we soon realized that Sirius's presumed death provided us with a great opportunity to protect both Buffy's secret and let Sirius keep his freedom."

A great opportunity it was but what a horrible way to achieve it, although it did provide Sirius with anonymity from the Ministry a bit longer, and there was no better freedom than being invisible and right under the noses of the very people who were looking for you.

"Does everyone else know about this?" asked Harry.

"Yes, they've all been informed in one way or another, but I thought it best to convey the message to you myself."

Harry wished he could see them both. The last time he saw Buffy was in Sunnydale, post-apocalyptic battle, and the last time he saw Sirius was when he, in Padfoot form, and Mad-Eye dropped him off at the Dursleys. Harry would give anything to be in Sunnydale right now. To eat dinner around the table with them. To walk, carefree, around the town. He'd even go hunting for vampires with Buffy…if she let him of course.

"…must tell you about Sirius's will and that he left you everything he owned."

Harry had only been half listening to Dumbledore talk while he let his mind wander, but his attention focused sharply on the Headmaster on that last sentence.

"Will?" asked Harry.

"Yes, in order to keep the pretense of Sirius's passing we must follow through to the tiniest of details. He has of course, as I have mentioned before, agreed to all of this," said Dumbledore and then proceeded to list all of Harry's new acquisitions. A large amount of gold had been added to his account at Gringotts (which Harry had no plans of touching), and he inherited all of Sirius's personal possessions (which Harry also planned on never touching), there was, however, a slightly problematic part of the gifted legacy.

"Our problem," Dumbledore continued to Harry, "is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Though it was used as Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, we, along with Sirius, have vacated the building temporarily."

"Why?"

"Well, Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."

Harry briefly recalled the shrieking portrait of Mrs. Black that hung in Grimmauld Place and he frowned. "I bet there has."

"Quite," said Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."

"No," he said firmly.

"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either," said Dumbledore calmly. "The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position."

"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?"

"Fortunately," said Dumbledore, "there is a simple test. You see if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited –" Dumbledore flicked his wand. There was a loud crack, and a house-elf appeared. "Kreacher," finished Dumbledore.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't –"

"As you can see, Harry," said Dumbledore loudly, over Kreacher's continued croaks, "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."

"I don't care," said Harry again. "I don't want him."

"Won't, won't, won't, won't –"

"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"

"Won't, won't, won't, won't –"

Harry stared at Dumbledore. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repugnant.

"Give him an order," said Dumbledore. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."

"Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!"

Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except, "Kreacher, shut up!"

It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.

"Well, that simplifies matters," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It means that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."

"Do I – do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, as Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.

"Not if you don't want to," said Dumbledore. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."

"Yeah," said Harry in relief, "yeah, I'll do that. Er – Kreacher – I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves."

Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished. And that settled that matter.

"Wait, if Sirius can't go back to Grimmauld Place, where is he going to stay? He will be coming back won't he?" Harry asked, nearing panic at the thought of not seeing his godfather in the foreseeable future.

"Yes, he will return to England once school starts again. He'll want to be as close to you as he possibly can, I imagine," Dumbledore assured him. "I believe he will be staying with Joyce. She has a lovely home in the countryside with fresh air, lots of space, an abundant amount of privacy and plenty of quiet."

Harry breathed out in relief. "Good. He'll really like that," said Harry, glad that Sirius would be close and no longer ordered to stay cooped up in dingy, cramped Grimmauld Place. Sirius would not only be, but also, feel free in the open country, and Harry hoped he'll be able to visit as soon as possible.

There was one last inheritance matter that needed to be dealt with and its name was Buckbeak. Hagrid had been looking after him since Sirius had 'died,' but Buckbeak belonged to Harry now, and Harry preferred Buckbeak, or Withersings as he was now known to be called for his safety, continued to stay with Hagrid, knowing both Hippogriff and the half-giant would prefer it that way.

All legal matters were settled and it was time to depart, however, before they left number four, Privet Drive, Dumbledore relayed one final statement to the Dursleys, whom they had found standing awkwardly in the hallway outside the living room.

"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own." Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together. "The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."

None of the Dursleys said anything. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.

"Well, Harry…time for us to be off," said Dumbledore at last. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the hall.

"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys, and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside Harry's trunk, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched.

"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand. "I shall send them to the Burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak…just in case."

Harry extracted his cloak from his trunk and stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket. Dumbledore waved his wand and the trunk, cage, and Hedwig vanished. Then waved his wand again, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.

"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."


	5. Chapter 5

**Lessons**

By Amerie

Sunnydale was a small California town with a very deceptive name. To hear the name Sunnydale one pictures bright, happy homes, safe streets and carefree childhoods, but dark secrets lurk within those streets. Dark, demonic secrets of legends and prophecies, of monsters and heroes that could chill bone and bring nightmares. And the man in charge of understanding and dissecting these secrets was currently sitting in a chair with firm crease between his brows.

Since the Graduation battle, Giles's home had become makeshift Scooby central. As that was where all the important books lived after all. And the many, many shiny weapons.

Teenagers streamed in out of his home, popping in and out unannounced, in a non-wizardry way of course. Giles didn't mind it much, as he had been living alone for so long that he enjoyed some company, though the lack of steady privacy was beginning to grate on his patience – and his glasses. He had become accustomed to the swell of noise and liveliness in his home, but on those rare days when there was not a soul or sound in sight, Giles, with his cup of tea and comfy chair, felt like he had reached nirvana.

For weeks, Giles had been reading, researching and learning all he could about the Wizarding world. In Watcher's training, he had only been taught the basics, as much as the Hogwarts students had been taught about Vampire Slayers. When he had been told that Buffy Summers, a witch, would be placed in his charge, he studied up a little bit more. But now it seemed that the two worlds were blending more and more. There was something different about the occurrences happening around them. A witch-slayer was a rarity, but it had never seemed as important as it does now. Everything from Buffy's being Chosen, to her possession by Voldemort, her friendship with Harry Potter, her survival of death, all of it seemed…destined.

"Destined," he repeated his thought aloud as though the word had unlocked a hidden door.

He placed his current book aside and went to his shelves, scanning the titles eagerly. The Pergamum Codex was an ancient tome containing the most complete prophecies about the Slayer's role in the end years. It had predicted Buffy's death at the hands of the Master and maybe...

Giles grabbed the volume and flipped through the pages rapidly. Why hadn't it occurred to him to pick it up before now? He had combed through the book when he had first laid his hands on it, but there were parts that hadn't been fully translated and difficult to understand. But something was telling him, some little voice in the back of his mind was saying to look at it more carefully now. That there was something he might have missed.

And there was.

Written in a dead language, created by a demonic tongue he had been forced to piece together in a musty classroom in his youth, he came upon a something he had missed before. Something that seemed all too important now.

…_magic_..._souls…_

"Souls," he muttered, mystified.

The rest of the words were muddy at best. His mind and training were only set to recognize certain words, certain narratives, and all his knowledge was now lacking where he needed it. But there may be someone…

Curiosity peaked as his mind raced and Giles, with his book in hand, headed toward the telephone and dialed.

"Sirius, hello…fine, thank you. I-I'm actually calling to ask for, for a favor. I was hoping, if by chance, you'd lend me your owl?"

Horace Slughorn was a very odd man who looked very much like a walrus. He was short, bald with an immense belly and an enormous, silver, walrus-like moustache.

And he was a man Harry did not take an immediate liking to.

Convincing Slughorn to return to Hogwarts was the '_assistance in a matter'_ that Dumbledore had requested in his letter. Which had become a difficult task for the Headmaster, but he saw some hope with Harry. Because as it happened, Slughorn had a very strange hobby of 'collecting' students; it was a peculiar penchant of self-serving favoritism hiding as mentoring promising pupils. And Dumbledore knew that, "He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived'…or, as they call you these days, 'the Chosen One.'"

But Harry didn't want to be collected by anyone, much less a professor who only saw teaching his students as IOUs paid upon their success. Harry had enough people after him; he didn't need any extras tacking on.

Thankfully, their meeting was not a very long one. Harry had grown tired, and annoyed, hearing about Slughorn's 'accomplishments', even more so when he had included Harry's mother on the list. Slughorn impressed at her talent despite the fact that she was Muggle-born, and that right there did not sit well with Lily Potter's, née Evan's, son.

Soon after, Dumbledore and Harry finished their stop in the charming village of Budleigh Babberton, and having succeeded in bringing Horace Slughorn back to the teaching staff of Hogwarts, the pair finally Apparated to the Burrow. And Harry had never seen such a wonderful sight than the multistoried home that neared tottering over.

Harry was ready to enter the house when Dumbledore stopped him. There were a few things that he needed to tell Harry, in private, away from any ears.

It was about the prophecy, and Dumbledore inquired if Harry had told any of his friends the details of it, in which the young Mister Potter was set to say no when he realized it wasn't exactly a no.

"I told Buffy and Sirius about it. Most of it at least."

Dumbledore smiled, seeming very glad at his response.

"I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends. Only those of your closest of course. Yes," he continued, when Harry looked startled, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."

"I didn't want –"

"– to worry or frighten them?" said Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened?" And as someone had said before, someone small, blonde, and could punch a hole in you if she wanted to, "You need your friends, Harry."

Maybe he should start listening to her more often.

Harry said nothing, but Dumbledore did not seem to require an answer and continued, "On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."

"Private – with you?" said Harry, surprised.

"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education."

"What will you be teaching me, sir?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," said Dumbledore airily.

Harry waited hopefully, but Dumbledore did not elaborate, so he asked something else that had been bothering him slightly.

"If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?"

"Professor Snape, Harry – and no, you will not."

"Good," said Harry in relief.

Very good indeed, because as far as that matter went it was a complete fiasco, one in which no one benefited.

The lights in the kitchen were on, a warm, guiding light in the darkness, and the pair walked up the country lane to the inviting home.

"Who's there?" said the nervous voice of Mrs. Weasley's. "Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry."

The door opened at once. There stood Mrs. Weasley, wearing an old green dressing gown.

"Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky," said Dumbledore, ushering Harry over the threshold. "Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Harry's doing, of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"

Harry looked around and saw that Mrs. Weasley was not alone, despite the lateness of the hour. A young witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and mousy-brown hair was sitting at the table clutching a large mug between her hands.

"Hello, Professor," she said. "Wotcher, Harry."

"Hi, Tonks."

Harry thought she looked drawn, even ill, and there was something forced in her smile. Certainly her appearance was less colorful than usual without her customary shade of bubble-gum-pink hair.

"I'd better be off," she said quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore courteously, "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"No, no, I need to get going," said Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "'Night…"

"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming…?"

"No, really, Molly…thanks anyway…Good night, everyone."

Tonks hurried past Dumbledore and Harry into the yard; a few paces beyond the doorstep, she turned on the spot and vanished into thin air.

"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Take care of yourself. Goodbye, Molly."

He followed Tonks, vanishing at precisely the same spot.

As expected, Mrs. Weasley remarked on Harry's too thin appearance and hurried to feed him. Through the meal, Harry had learned that Mr. Weasley was given a promotion at work heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive. Mrs. Weasley was beaming as she explained the details to Harry, and it was in the mix of it that Mr. Weasley arrived a little past midnight.

Mr. Weasley was in the middle of explaining his current predicament at work, a nasty backfiring jinx, when Harry yawned, but a yawn could not be taken as just a yawn in the Weasley home, and Mrs. Weasley ordered him right up to bed. To Fred and George's old room, as they were now living above their joke shop, a room that was still filled with boxes of their things.

Harry drudged up without question and quickly drifted off to sleep. And in what felt like seconds after he closed his eyes, he was awakened by what sounded like cannon fire as the door burst open.

Bolting upright, Harry heard the rasp of the curtains being pulled back. The dazzling sunlight seemed to poke him hard in both eyes. Shielding them with one hand, he groped hopelessly for his previously abandoned glasses with the other.

"Wuzzgoinon?" he mumbled.

"We didn't know you were here already!" said a loud and excited voice, and he received a sharp blow to the top of the head.

"Ron, don't hit him!" said a girl's voice reproachfully.

Harry's hand found his spectacles and he shoved them on, though the light was so bright he could hardly see anyway. A long, looming shadow quivered in front of him for a moment; he blinked and Ron Weasley came into focus, grinning down at him.

"All right?"

"Never been better," said Harry, rubbing the top of his head and slumping back onto his pillows. "You?"

"Not bad," said Ron, pulling over a cardboard box and sitting on it. "When did you get here? Mum's only just told us."

"Uh…'bout midnight."

"Were the Muggles all right? Did they treat you okay?"

"Same as usual," said Harry, as Hermione perched herself on the edge of his bed, "they didn't talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said as she scrutinized, but Harry only had a fleeting look of her expression, because his attention soon turned to Ron, who was leaning toward Hermione, about to touch her face, and she retracted back when she saw him coming.

"You've a bit of…" he said, and gestured toward the stray lace of toothpaste that Hermione had on her chin.

A slight blush came to Hermione's cheeks as she quickly wiped the toothpaste away, and Harry wasn't sure if the blush was due to embarrassment or something else entirely.

"What's the time? Have I missed breakfast?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "So, what's been going on?"

"Nothing much, I've just been stuck at my aunt and uncle's, haven't I?"

"Come off it!" said Ron. "You've been off with Dumbledore!"

"It wasn't that exciting. He just wanted me to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn."

"Oh," said Ron, looking disappointed. "We thought…"

Hermione flashed a warning look at Ron, and Ron changed tack at top speed.

"…we thought it'd be something like that."

"You did?" said Harry, amused.

"Yeah…yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? So, er, what's he like?"

"He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin," said Harry. "Something wrong, Hermione?"

She was watching him as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment. She rearranged her features hastily in an unconvincing smile.

"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good teacher?"

"Dunno," said Harry. "He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?"

"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," said a voice from the doorway. Ron's younger sister slouched into the room, looking irritable. "Hi, Harry."

"What's up with you?" Ron asked.

"It's her," said Ginny, setting herself down on Harry's bed. "She's driving me mad."

"What's she done now?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"It's the way she talks to me…you'd think I was about three!"

"I know," said Hermione, dropping her voice. "She's so full of herself."

Harry was astonished to hear Hermione talking about Mrs. Weasley like this and could not blame Ron for saying angrily, "Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?"

"Oh, that's right, defend her," snapped Ginny. "We all know you can't get enough of her."

This seemed an odd comment to make about Ron's mother. Starting to feel that he was missing something, Harry said, "Who are you…?"

But his question was answered before he could finish it. The bedroom door flew open again.

A young woman was standing in the doorway, a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair and carrying a heavily laden breakfast tray.

"'Arry," she said in a throaty voice. "Eet 'as been too long!"

As she swept over the threshold toward him, Mrs. Weasley was revealed, bobbing along in her wake, looking rather cross.

"There was no need to bring up the tray, I was just about to do it myself!"

"Eet was no trouble," said Fleur Delacour, setting the tray across Harry's knees and then swooping to kiss him on each cheek. Feeling the places where her mouth had touched him burn. "I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh…is she here, too?"

"No, no, silly boy," said Fleur with a tinkling laugh, "I mean next summer, when we…but do you not know?"

Her great blue eyes widened and she looked reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who said, "We hadn't got around to telling him yet."

Fleur immediately turned back to Harry and happily exclaimed, "Bill and I are going to be married!"

And by looks of Mrs. Weasley, Ginny and Hermione, Harry wasn't exactly sure if this was good news or not.


	6. Chapter 6

**Lessons**

By Amerie

An 'Acceptable' in Astronomy. An 'Exceeds Expectations' in Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology, Potions and Transfigurations. An 'Outstanding' in D.A.D.A. A 'Dreadful' in History of Magic and a 'Poor' in Divination.

They were as good as Harry could have hoped for. He felt just one tiny twinge of regret as this was the end of his ambition to become an Auror. He had not secured the required Potions grade. He had known all along that he wouldn't, but he still felt a sinking in his stomach as he looked again at that small black E where they should've been an O.

Ron's results were almost identical to Harry's except there wasn't a single 'Outstanding', but that did not temper Mrs. Weasley's joy.

"Well done!" she said proudly, ruffling Ron's hair. "Seven O. , that's more than Fred and George got together!"

"Hermione?" said Ginny tentatively. "How did you do?"

"I – not bad," said Hermione in a small voice.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand. "Yep…ten 'Outstanding's and one 'Exceeds Expectations' at Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed.

"Well, we're N.E.W.T students now!" grinned Ron. "Mum, are there any more sausages?"

Their O.W.L results came in that morning and they finally looked upon the outcome from long hours of studying and five years of schooling.

Some left happier than others at said results.

To try and take Hermione's mind off her marks, and to help distract Ginny before she strangled Fleur, or Phlegm as she so _affectionately_ liked to call her, the quartet gathered outside in the summer sun. Where Harry was set to follow through on some repeated advice.

"Dumbledore's going to be giving me private lessons this year," said Harry conversationally. "I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy." No one said a word and he continued, "You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry."

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione quickly. "Buffy destroyed it."

"Although the Prophet said…" began Ron, but Hermione quickly shushed him.

"The Prophet's got it right," said Harry, looking up at them with a great effort. Hermione seemed frightened, Ron amazed and Ginny was intrigued. "That glass ball that got smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said," Harry took a deep breath, "it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort…At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives."

"So that means you have to…" Ginny began and Harry nodded silently at her assumption.

"We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry," said Hermione. "Obviously, we didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this…"

"Are you all right?" asked Ginny.

He wasn't at first, but things were different now. The battle in Sunnydale changed him, changed all of them. It hardened them just a little bit more. It made them see everything in a new light. Especially when they knew that their own battle against evil was no longer a question but a definitive fact that was closing in.

"There's not much I can do, is there? It seems as though I always knew I'd have to face him in the end…"

"Well, we're here for you, mate," said Ron patting Harry on the back. "We've learned to become handy in a fight. Got the scars to prove it, don't we?"

Harry smiled. Yes, they all definitely had the scars, no matter how minor.

"Have you told Buffy?" Ginny asked. "Because as far prophecies go…"

"Yeah. I did."

"What'd she say?"

He couldn't help but quirk a smile as he recalled her advice.

"She said I was going to hate it. A lot. She said it was going to be hard and painful. And that I'm going to want to give up. That I'm going to think I won't be strong enough. That I can't win."

"Doesn't pull any punches, does she?" said Ron.

Harry ignored him and felt a swell in his chest as he remembered her final words.

"But she said I was going to be wrong. She said I was going to beat him. That I am going to win."

Ginny smiled proudly. "Nope, definitely doesn't pull any punches."

It shouldn't come as a surprise, but Ron was still left a little amazed at Buffy's unwavering faith of Harry. Guess Buffy was turning out to be an all right girl after all.

"Did she say anything else?" asked Hermione, and she glanced at him long enough to see him shake his head before she lost herself in thought.

"She's got that look on her face," said Ron.

"Look?" Ginny asked.

"Like she's trying solve the biggest riddle in the world," he answered and then paused as he mulled over a certain word. "Riddle. Rid-dle. That words never gonna be the same again, is it?"

"Probably not," replied Harry. "What is it, Hermione?"

The wheels were churning, as they often did inside the mind of Hermione Granger, and as with most enigmas, sometimes it helped hearing those wheels chug aloud.

"Into every generation…one girl in all the world…"

Ron sighed. "Oh, here we go."

But Hermione ignored him. "It goes against everything in the Slayer's origin. Against its very essence. There's not supposed to be two."

The three around her glanced at each other, confused.

"Okay," said Ginny.

"Buffy died and was then revived somehow. She cheated death." She finally focused on them, her face bright with inquisitiveness. "What if her death was prophesized? And if it was, then she found a way around it. She cheated the prophecy as well."

They stared at her blankly.

"I feel like you're trying to tell us something," said Ron.

"Not tell, but…if Buffy found a way around her prophecy maybe there's a way around yours, Harry. Maybe you won't have to defeat You – V-Voldemort on your own."

It was a lovely thought. And Hermione seemed very excited by the idea. But Harry knew there was no way around it. Even Dumbledore held no hope for an alternative. And if Buffy did, she would've said something when he revealed the contents of the prophecy to her.

But Buffy had cheated death, apparently more than once, so the rules didn't always seem to apply…so maybe…

"But we don't know the details about how Buffy died," said Ginny. "She didn't even tell us when visited her a few days ago."

"A few days go?" asked Harry.

They were going to ease it into conversation. At least that was the plan. Now the news had sprung a leak…or Ginny might've stabbed a hole into it, whatever.

"Yeah," said Ron and cleared his throat. "Yeah, we, er, we…i-it wasn't anything really, we just…"

"We went to Sunnydale. Before you got here," Ginny admitted gently.

A stone settled into Harry's stomach and he suddenly felt very far away from them, despite the fact that he hadn't moved at all.

"All of you?"

"No, not all, just me, mum, dad, Ron, and Hermione," she said. "It was sort of last minute since dad had been given a bit of time off from work before he started his new job. But Bill couldn't go 'cause Gringotts wouldn't budge, and Phlegm_ did not vant to leave 'er Bill all alone_," she said in her best Fleur impression.

Pangs of alienation hit Harry like spikes. And those spikes began to burn a fire that lit Harry's eyes. A burning light that they all began to see.

"That's great. Thanks a lot for the invitation," he spat.

They knew he wasn't going to like it, hence the whole wanting to ease the news into a conversation plan that didn't work out like it was supposed to. Good job, Ginny.

"Harry," Hermione said gently, very well acquainted with Harry's temper. "Everyone wanted you to come. We did. Sirius had repeatedly asked Dumbledore about it, but he said it wouldn't be safe for you."

"We weren't sure about telling you, because…" Ron tried to explain.

"No, no I'm glad you did." But he didn't sound glad at all. By the expression on his face, it was evident Harry wasn't glad about any of this.

"You know we didn't do it on purpose, Harry," Ginny said firmly. "If there was a way to take you we would have. Remus even suggested taking Aurors if it meant you could go, but Dumbledore was adamant. But we did try."

Harry could still feel the roar in his chest, the burn in his eyes that didn't want to hear reason, but it managed to sneak in and Ginny was right. They weren't trying to hurt him – alienate him on purpose. He knew why Dumbledore didn't want him to go. Why Harry needed to stay in his aunt's house for protection. As unfair as it was. Harry was told the truth about everything, not like last year when the Order, when Dumbledore, shielded him from the whole lot with no explanation. Harry now knew better than to give into immaturity, he just needed to keep telling himself that before he unreasonably lashed outght. They weren' was adamant." S_ and estranged himself from his friends even more than he already felt.

"How long were you there?" he asked, his voice low but at least he didn't sound angry.

"A week," Hermione replied. "We only just returned."

Harry nodded, to show he was listening and asked, "How was it?"

"Hot." Was the first thing that came to Ron's mind. "But, yea, it was pretty cool."

He wanted to keep it light. He wanted to forget, even just a little, how much it hurt that he wasn't there. So Harry kept to simple questions until he could tolerate all the happy, carefree days they had spent in California while he was stuck in that wretched, suffocating – light, remember light.

"How'd Sirius look?" Harry asked.

"Happy. Tanned," said Ginny.

"And healthy. He's put on a bit of weight," said Hermione.

"Buffy called it happy weight," added Ginny. "Though I'm sure he wasn't happy when Buffy poked him in the stomach as she said it."

That was good. Better than good, it was great. Hearing that Sirius was happy and healthy was the kind of news that helped to alleviate Harry's spirits. He just needed to hold on to that feeling and maybe he could enjoy hearing about their trip instead of resenting them for it.

"And Buffy?"

They had exchanged letters, as promised, but Harry would still like to know how she was doing. Have some witnesses to prove she hadn't been eaten up by the Mouth of Hell…and preferably very far away from ex-boyfriends who happened to be vampires, because, you know, they're dangerous, those vampires.

"Happy. Tanned," repeated Ginny and Harry cracked a little smile at that. "She's good. And very much taken with her environment."

"What do you mean?"

"She's almost like a different person," she said. "Like Slayer-Buffy as opposed to the witch-Buffy we've call come to know and love."

"It's true," agreed Ron. "Would've never thought it was the same girl if I hadn't seen it myself."

It was more than just clothes and tans, it was Buffy's attitude, her confidence. She seemed in constant alert of her surroundings. And above all, she was like an actual normal teenage girl. A normal teenage girl who was a Vampire Slayer, a witch and lived in a town that constantly tried to kill her so evil can take over the world, but there's no need to get into semantics here.

"So what's Slayer-Buffy like?" Harry asked, more than a little curious.

"Filled with more energy than I could've imagined," Hermione answered. "She patrolled nightly and still managed to entertain us every afternoon."

"On very little sleep," Ginny added.

"Didn't look like she needed it," Ron said.

The scorching envy was creeping up again and Harry pushed it down.

"How about everyone else? How were Buffy's friends?"

"They were great. A lot of fun," replied Ginny. "The town itself was pretty friendly, you know, if you overlook the large demon population that creeps out at night and always keeps trying to kill people."

Harry had only been to Sunnydale once, a little too busy with not dying to go sightseeing, but he could imagine the town in his head. He could see all of them walking around (without him), having fun (without him), and even fighting off a few vampires (without him), and thinking of that last part begged the question: "Did you go slaying?"

Ginny and Ron looked behind them toward the house. Even if Mrs. Weasley was way out of earshot, one could never be too careful. Especially around Molly Weasley, who had raised Fred and George, and was the only one to put real fear into their little black hearts.

Ron nodded in response with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Really? How often?"

"Only twice, but it was very exciting," said Hermione, surprisingly.

"Kill any demons?"

Ginny pouted. "No. The demon population was pretty low while we were there."

"Just a couple of vampires," said Ron, disappointed.

"And Buffy and Faith made quick work of them," Hermione tacked on. "According to Mr. Giles, the Hellmouth draws very low activity around the summer months…but is oddly high during the school year."

"Just like Hogwarts," Ginny uttered, curiously.

They pondered on how true those statements were. It was almost like some sort of conspiracy, as if someone planned the high evil activity for the sake of suspense and entertainment…interesting…

"Still…sounds like everyone had a good time."

It was hard not to notice that Harry's mood hadn't completely alleviated. Or eased at all. His posture and tone of voice noted his disappointment. And they had to admit that as much fun as they had, they couldn't deny the hollowness that was felt in Harry's absence.

The atmosphere turned quiet and awkward and Harry knew it was because of him. He didn't mean to, but…

"Anything else happen?" he asked.

"Well," said Ginny with a teasing grin, "we've discovered that Ron really is his father's son."

Her brother rolled his eyes, even as his cheeks pinked a little.

"Will you let that go already?" pleaded Ron.

Harry looked to Ginny, whose smile hadn't gone, and at his questioning eyes she elaborated.

"My dear brother has found himself in love with Muggle living."

Harry smiled, amused. "Really?"

"I did not fall in love!"  
>"It was more with Muggle technology," Hermione clarified.<p>

"Let me guess," Harry said and turned to Ron, "television?"

It was a common weakness for Muggles, especially bored Muggles with nothing better to do. And it was only natural that Ron, King of Procrastinators, would gravitate towards the interesting little electronic box that turned one's brain to mush.

"He became obsessed with it," Ginny replied.

"I did not!"

Me thinks Ronald Weasley doth protest too much. The girls were clearly enjoying their taunting, much to the dismay of the scarlet-faced Ron, and Harry, who felt a little bad for his friend at the teasing, couldn't help but enjoy it, which lead to him releasing his green-eyed monster for the moment.

"And not just television, oh no, he become enamored with that program…that one about teenagers…ugh, what was it...?"  
>"Beverly Hills 90210," Hermione answered.<p>

"I was not!"

"Yes, oh my – he just couldn't stop watching it."

"Yes I could!"

"So you admit to watching it?" teased Ginny.

Ron reddened even more. He had been backed into a very embarrassed corner with no way to escape. So he waved the white flag and turned sheepishly to Harry.

"You watch television don't ya?"

"Sometimes," Harry answered warily.

Ron ignored the muffled giggles of his sister and Hermione, and asked, "Ever see it?"

"Don't think that I have."

And the door had been opened. Pride took to the backseat and Ron's excitement had taken the wheel. He couldn't help it. It was as if he had discovered this great secret he wanted to share with the world, a secret about rich teenagers in perfectly styled outfits and overly dramatic storylines.

"Oh, mate, you should," he said enthusiastically, eager to talk about it. "It's amazing what they go through. I mean…you think we have problems."

"They're not real people, Ron," said Ginny as she rolled her eyes.

"I know that!" he shot back, and turned back to an indifferent Harry. "But it pulls you in, you know? Like all the – hey, you know what's strange? How much their high school looks very much like Buffy's old high school. You think they've noticed that?"

Ginny shook her head and rolled her eyes again, refusing to believe that this fanatical boy was her brother.


	7. Chapter 7

**Lessons**

By Amerie

"There have been another couple of dementor attacks," Remus announced, as Mrs. Weasley passed him a large slice of birthday cake. "And they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it…well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius's brother, Regulus, only managed a few days as far as I can remember."

"Yes, well," said Mrs. Weasley, frowning, "perhaps we should talk about something diff –"

"Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?" asked Bill, who was being plied with wine by Fleur. "The man who ran…"

"Is the ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?" Harry interrupted, with an unpleasant, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. "He used to give me free ice creams. What's happened to him?"

"Dragged off, by the look of his place."

"Why?" asked Ron, while Mrs. Weasley pointedly glared at Bill.

"Who knows? He must've upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean."

"Talking of Diagon Alley," said Mr. Weasley, "looks like Ollivander's gone, too."

"The wandmaker?" said Ginny, looking startled.

"That's the one. Shop's empty. No sign of a struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped."

"But what'll people do for wands?"

"They'll make do with other makers," said Lupin. "But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side have got him it's not so good for us."

This was how Harry was celebrating his birthday. A little cake. A little tea. A little talk about disappearances and deaths. No big deal. All they needed was for Death Eaters to storm the place and it'll be the greatest birthday ever. Yay!

Remus didn't stay very long. Which was shocking what with all that stimulating conversation. As he was about to leave, he pulled Harry aside and handed him two envelopes.

"Sirius?" Harry guessed and Remus nodded.

"The other one's from Buffy. They wanted me to hand these to you personally."

Harry's mood dampened at hearing that, because if these letters were meant to be handed personally then that meant…

"So you went to see them," he said, because everyone but Harry gets to see them.

"Just got back yesterday," Remus replied, unaware of the slight tone of sadness in the boy's voice. "I try to pop in whenever I can. Make sure Sirius hasn't driven them mad."

And the age-old, emotional avoid-y question, "How's Sunnydale?"

"Hot," he replied with a grin.

Harry snorted. "That's what Ron said."

Remus sagged back a little. So the Bowtruckle was out of the tree.

They all knew Harry wouldn't like it. He had thrown a fit last summer when he had discovered that Ron and Hermione had been staying in Grammauld Place without him. But eventually he had to be told the truth. Remus only hoped that this time around, Harry hadn't lashed out at his friends. Though it was apparent that Harry was still left dismayed by the news of his exclusion.

"You heard about their little trip."

"Yeah. They told me." It was easy to see how the news of it still affected Harry. He had always felt misplaced, left out, and with good reason, but they had their reasons for shielding and protecting him, too, which mainly involved for the sake of keeping him alive. "How's Sirius doing?"

"Good."

"He seems to like Sunnydale very much."

"I think it's the freedom that Sunnydale gives him more than anything. He doesn't have to hide there. He can come and go as he pleases. Which he often does. And after being deprived of a normal life for such a long time…"

"I know. And I'm glad. I just wish…" Harry wished for a great many things, most of which never came true, but right now he wished more than anything that he could be in Sunnydale, enjoying Sirius's freedom with him. "Thanks for the letters. And the gifts."

Remus nodded. "Just so you know, they're split between Sirius, Joyce, Buffy and I. I think they'd kill me if I took full credit." And Harry smiled because it was probably true, at least in pertaining to Sirius and Buffy.

Remus patted Harry on the shoulder and went off to bid his farewells to rest of the inhabitants of the Burrow. But he seemed to linger a little longer with Mr. Weasley, which was curious as they were feet away from anyone within earshot. There was a frown on both their faces and Remus shook his head in denial of something Mr. Wesley said. It was a frustrated shake by the looks of it.

"Hey, whatcha got there?"

Harry turned to Ron, who was gazing down at Harry's hands.

"Just some letters from Buffy and Sirius," he replied, and when he turned back to his previous source of attention, he noticed that Remus had gone and Mr. Weasley was making his way back to the house.

There was something about the interaction that nagged at him. It was the expression on their faces, the frustration of Remus, the feeling that there was something they were trying to keep from the majority of those around them. And Harry didn't know if it was about Voldemort or Sirius or maybe even Sunnydale, all Harry knew was that it wasn't good.

The day after the rather gloomy birthday tea, the letters and booklists arrived from Hogwarts and Harry's included a surprise: he had been made Quidditch Captain.

"That gives you equal status with prefects!" cried Hermione happily. "You can use our special bathroom now and everything!"

And that's what Harry had always wanted, to use the special bathrooms and everything! But Harry was overjoyed at the new title. It was looking to be an all right school year: Quidditch Captain, private lessons with Dumbledore, no more Snape, Sirius was coming back, things were definitely improving from last year's nightmare that was for sure.

Saturday came far too soon for Mrs. Weasley's liking. As it was on Saturday that the group would have to leave the safety of the Burrow and head over to Diagon Alley to retrieve the children's books and supplies. Something Mrs. Weasley was not looking forward to at all.

It was on an overcast and murky day that the Ministry of Magic had so _graciously_ allowed them to use one of their special cars for the trip. Which Mr. Weasley was quick to remind Ron, who had made himself right at home in the luxurious vehicle, that it was mainly for the use of Harry's protection, as, "He's been given top-grade security status. And we'll be joining up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron, too."

Oh, yay, additional security. Harry always looked forward to being surrounded by Aurors.

"Here you are, then," said the driver, a surprisingly short while later, speaking for the first time as he slowed in Charing Cross Road and stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. "I'm to wait for you, any idea how long you'll be?"

"A couple of hours, I expect," said Mr. Weasley. "Ah, good, he's here!"

Harry peered through the window; his heart leapt. There were no Aurors waiting outside the inn, but instead the gigantic, black-bearded form of Rubeus Hagrid, beaming at the sight of Harry's face and oblivious to the startled stares of passing Muggles.

Greetings were made and hugged as soon as the occupants exited the car, and when the large group entered the Leaky Cauldron they were surprised to find how empty and sullen it was.

And Diagon Alley fared no better.

There were very few people about, most in a rush in gathering their school supplies as if no one wanted to be there any longer than they had to be. The colorful, glittering window displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients, and cauldrons were lost to view, hidden behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over them. Most of these somber purple posters carried blown-up versions of the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets that had been sent out over the summer, but others bore moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. A few windows were boarded up and a number of shabby-looking stalls had sprung up along the street.

It was a rather depressing sight.

"Are you looking for someone, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked of Ginny, who had been turning her head every which way.

"Buffy," she replied.

It hadn't occurred to the rest of the children that Buffy would be around shopping for her books today as well, and the chance of spotting her rose in anticipation, but Hagrid and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew better and they shared a mysterious look that went unnoticed.

"She won't be here, Ginny," said Mr. Weasley, "Joyce said they'd be coming sometime tomorrow."

Mr. Weasley sounded so sure and calm about his response that they didn't question it and the frowns of disappointment appeared on Ginny, Harry and even Hermione and Ron's faces.

"Yes, well, we'd better do Madam Malkin's first," said Mrs. Weasley, "Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron's showing much too much ankle in his school robes, and you must need new ones too, Harry, you've grown so much…come on, everyone…"

"Molly, it doesn't make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's," said Mr. Weasley. "Why don't those three go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's school-books?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to finish the shopping quickly and the wish to stick together in a pack. "Hagrid, do you think —?"

"Don't fret, they'll be fine with me, Molly," said Hagrid soothingly Mrs. Weasley did not look entirely convinced, but allowed the separation, scurrying off toward Flourish and Blotts with her husband and Ginny while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid set off for Madam Malkin's.

Hagrid waited outside the shop while Harry, Ron and Hermione entered, seeing as the tiny space would not be able to fit the half-giant.

The place was quiet and the trio thought the shop to be empty, but a figure came into view, stepping out from behind a rack and towards the full-length mirror. A figure with white-blond hair and silver eyes.

Draco did not want to be here. He didn't need new dress robes, he didn't need new schoolbooks, he didn't anything because Draco Malfoy was on a mission, a mission his mother still refused to believe he should or could complete. And she had dragged him here because she still refused to let the apron strings snap.

Draco gazed at his reflection, eyeing the robes, with its tailor pins and markings, with disinterest, and it was then that he noticed the presence of Harry, Ron and Hermione reflected in the mirror. A quick clench of excitement came to his heart and his eyes lingered a bit on the trio as if searching for something, or someone, but they soon drooped in disappointment for a second before he tightened his jaw and straightened his posture.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in," said Draco coldly, almost carelessly.

"I don't think there's any need for language like that!" said Madam Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand. "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!" she added hastily, noticing Harry and Ron both standing there with a tight grip on the aforementioned objects.

Hermione, who was standing slightly behind them, whispered, "No, don't, honestly, it's not worth it. "

Draco smirked, but said nothing. That was different. In fact there was something very different about him. A mature coldness as opposed to the immature taunting they were used to.

A beautiful woman had walked out from her hidden spot. She was pale with blue eyes and long blonde hair. Her features familiar, and Harry, Ron and Hermione knew that this woman was Draco's mother.

"So these are the three who caused all the trouble," she said, an arrogant tone in her voice.

Draco scoffed. "Not trouble, Mother, just a nuisance." He threw another smirk in their direction. "They're not powerful enough to be any real concern."

Now it was Harry's turn to smirk. "Just powerful enough to send your father into Azkaban where he belongs."

Hot anger shot through Draco and he was on the verge of an attack before Narcissa took a quick hold of his arm and held him back. She didn't want her son in any more messes.

"I see being Dumbledore's favorite has caused a false sense of confidence, Harry Potter," she drawled. "Don't think so highly of yourself, I know it wasn't you who unjustly sent my husband to that awful place. You haven't the skill nor the intelligence."

"You're right," he agreed with a careless nod. "It took someone who was more powerful than me. I think we both know who that is," he said in a challenging tone to Malfoy.

Draco knew who that was and the sting of betrayal burned hot. But he refused to say her name, refused to hear it at all and glared furiously at Harry.

The thick tension in the room caused everyone to settle into an uneasy quiet. Their angers on the verge of boiling over.

Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn't. She bent toward Malfoy, who was still glaring at Harry.

"I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just…"

"Ouch!" bellowed Malfoy angrily, slapping her hand away. "Mother, I don't think I want these anymore."

He pulled the robes over his head and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin's feet.

"You're right, Draco," said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, "Now I know the kind of scum that shops here…we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Malfoy giving Harry a long angry stare on the way out.

The weight of tension eased off their shoulders and they all let out a breath. Madam Malkin began to clean up the small mess Draco had made as Hermione and Ron gathered around Harry.

"You shouldn't have brought her up, Harry," said Hermione disapprovingly.

"It's the truth," he shrugged unapologetically.

"I know, but…"

Ron gave her a confused look. "What? You feeling sorry for him now?"

Hermione gave a slow shake of her head. "It's just – she's his friend, at least I think she's still is, but she's also one of the reasons why his father is in prison. It just…it doesn't seem right to rub it in his face."

"Like he hasn't said worse to us," countered Ron.

"But that's the thing, we're not him. And I don't think Buffy would've appreciated being used that way."

No, she most definitely wouldn't have liked it. But it had already been said and Harry couldn't very well apologize to Malfoy now could he. What kind of message would that send?

Madam Malkin had been very flustered when fitting Harry, Ron and Hermione their new robes, and when she finally bowed them out of the shop it was with an air of being glad to see the back of them.

The Trio plus Hagrid regrouped with Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley outside, and they all made a quick stop at the Apothecary and Eeylops on their way to Fred and George's shop, and boy what a sight that was.

"Whoa," said Ron, stopping in his tracks.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop-fronts around them, Fred and Georges windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; Harry's eyes began to water just looking at it. The right-hand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

**WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT**

**YOU-KNOW-WHO?**

**YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT**

**U-NO-POO —**

**THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION**

**THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!**

"This is brilliant!" exclaimed Ron.

The children thought it was amazing and hilarious and Mrs. Weasley…well, Mrs. Weasley looked like she was about to have an anxiety attack any minute.

The group entered the bright and vibrant building, which was packed with customers and merchandise. There were Skiving Snackboxes, Nosebleed Nougats – which were the most popular, bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which came in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties.

Hermione and Harry had wandered toward a shelf that contained Patented Daydream Charms, and after reading the box, Hermione exclaimed, "You know that really is extraordinary magic!"

"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free."

A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair.

"How are you, Harry? Hermione?" he asked.

"Good, thanks," replied Harry. "Got quite the crowd here."

"Course! Didn't expect any less did you?" he said beaming and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Sorry, Hermione, but I'm gonna take this lad here on a private tour. Feel free to mill around and touch things."

Fred led Harry toward the back of the shop, where he saw a stand of card and rope tricks.

"Muggle magic tricks!" said Fred happily, pointing them out. "For freaks like Dad, you know, who love Muggle stuff. It's not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business, they're great novelties…Oh, here's George…"

The other half of the Weasley twins came into view and gave Harry a quick welcome shake of his hand.

"Giving him the tour? Come through the back, Harry, that's where we're making the real money…

And what a treasure trove that turned out to be.

In the back section, behind a mysterious curtain, was a whole area dedicated to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves, Instant Darkness Powder, Decoy Detonators and many other gadgets to protect against minor to moderate hexes or jinxes.

"Harry, you help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge," said George.

"I can't do that!" said Harry, who had already pulled out his moneybag to pay for the Decoy Detonators George had handed him.

"You don't pay here," said Fred firmly, waving away Harry's gold.

"But…"

"You gave us our start-up loan, we haven't forgotten," said George sternly "Take whatever you like, and just remember to tell people where you got it, if they ask."

Harry, although begrudgingly, pocketed a few items to be polite before the three wizards exited the back of the shop and toward Hermione and Ginny who were by the daydream charms.

"Did you go?" Ginny asked suddenly. The trio of boys regarded her quizzically, before she clarified. "To see Buffy? You were supposed to go last week remember?"

Oh, that. Fred and George stayed silent as they shared a suspiciously cryptic look that didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" questioned Ginny.

"What's what?" asked Fred.

"That look."

"What look?"

"That _look_ look. You both had something-face."

George smiled. "You're spending way too much time with our dear little Buffy, Ginny."

"Don't change the subject," she said sternly, like their Mother and they hated when she did that. "Now, what was –?"

"It was nothing, Ginny, seriously. It's just we haven't had time to make a stopover to good ole Sunnydale, what with the shop and all."

"Yeah, we just a feel a little guilty cause we've been promising Buffy we would."

"But wasn't Neville supposed to go with you? Does that mean he hasn't gone?" inquired Hermione.

Fred shook his head. "His grandmother refuses to let him go with things as they are. Even if we wanted to go we wouldn't've been able to bring him along."

"Wanted to go?" asked Harry quickly. "I thought you said you couldn't?"

The Twins made eye contact again and it was enough to set those around them a little on edge.

"Okay, seriously, what are you two hiding?" Ginny demanded.

They were keeping a secret. A Buffy secret and those never tended to be good. But what could be happening to their dear little Slayer that would make them keep their mouths shut. Ginny and Hermione had visited not too long ago and she seemed fine, everything seemed fine, well as fine as Sunnydale could be.

"She's okay, isn't she?" Harry asked, fear starting to stir.

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine, they all are," answered George, but there was no happy note to his voice. It was almost as if he was just stating fact, that those in Sunnydale were alive but not exactly living a happily carefree existence.

"Hey!" Ron greeted cheerfully but then noticed the high tension and curiosity peaked. "What's going on?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Ginny said with a glare at Fred and George.

And much to the relief of the Twins, a young, blonde witch with Magenta colored staff robes chose that time to intervene.

"Sorry, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, but there's a customer here looking for a joke cauldron."

Fred and George immediately sagged in relief.

"Thank you, Verity."

"Lead the way."

Verity raised an eyebrow. "Both of you?"

"Yes," they said all too gladly, making a mental note to pad Verity's pay for the day.

Ginny continued to glare at her brothers' backs as they left. Something was rotten in Sunnydale that was for sure. But what? What would make Fred and George not want to go? What were those looks they exchanged? Her mother and father hadn't mentioned anything was wrong, and neither had Buffy in her last letter…her last letter…a letter that Ginny just realized had arrived some time ago. Too much time ago to be honest.

With a pensive expression, Ginny turned to Harry and asked, "When was the last time you heard from Buffy?"

"Three days ago. I got a letter for my birthday," he replied. "Why? You?"

"Two weeks," she answered with a despondent sigh because that was too long, especially when Buffy and Ginny wrote at least three times a week.

"And Neville?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know," she said with a shake of her head. "Got a letter yesterday, but he didn't mention anything."

"Well, Remus saw them the day before my birthday and said they were fine," said Harry.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yeah, 'cause the adults always tell us what's really happening."

That was very true and Harry suddenly remembered the way Remus and Mr. Weasley had looked during their chat on Harry's birthday, right before Remus left – distressed and not happy. And now Fred and George…what exactly was happening Sunnydale?

Ron was definitely lost. It was like everyone was on Chapter Ten of the book and he had barely read the introduction.

"Okay, is someone going to tell me what's going on?" They had forgotten about Ron's lack of pre-knowledge before he entered the conversation, and so Ginny, Harry and Hermione informed him of what he had missed. He took in the words and mulled them over before coming up with an idea, "Well someone should write to her when we get back. Sort it out ourselves."

The suggestion seemed so simple, but they had a feeling that if anyone wrote to Buffy there was a very slim chance they'd get a reply.

"Ginny! Ginny!"

Immediately Ginny rolled her eyes. "She doesn't see me for five minutes and she thinks Death Eaters have taken me." With an annoyed sigh, and like the dutiful daughter she was, Ginny turned on her heel and marched to where Mrs. Weasley stood. "God, I can't wait till school starts," she muttered under her breath.

The Trio watched her go and it was behind her, through the glass window, that they saw Malfoy walking past, glancing over his shoulder as if he were waiting to be caught.

"Wonder where his mummy is?" said Harry, frowning.

"Given her the slip by the looks of it," said Ron.

"Why, though?" questioned Hermione.

Very good question indeed.

Everyone who would notice their absence was currently occupied with other things, and Harry took this opportunity to find an answer to Hermione's question. But there did remain the problem of Hagrid, who stood guard outside the shop, but luckily, Harry had his hand-dandy cloak at hand for that.

"Get under here, quick," said Harry, pulling on his Invisibility Cloak.

"Oh – I don't know, Harry," said Hermione, looking uncertainly toward Mrs. Weasley.

"Come on," urged Ron.

Hermione hesitated a second longer before finally joining them and they proceeded to retrace Malfoy's twisted path entirely unnoticed until they arrived at their morbid destination.

"Borgin & Burke's why am I not surprised?" said Ron, as the Trio hid under the cloak near the shop.

"If only we could hear what they're saying!" said Hermione.

"We can!" said Ron excitedly. "Hang on, damn." He fumbled through his pockets until he triumphantly pulled out – "Extendable Ears!"

"Fantastic!" exclaimed Hermione, as Ron unraveled the long, flesh-colored strings and began to feed them toward the bottom of the door. "Oh, I hope the door isn't Imperturbable…"

"No!" said Ron gleefully. "Listen!"

They put their heads together and listened intently to the ends of the strings, through which Malfoy's voice could be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had been turned on.

"… you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly," said Borgin begrudgingly. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't," said Malfoy. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

Harry saw Borgin lick his lips nervously.

"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" said Malfoy. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."

He moved toward Borgin and was blocked from view by a cabinet. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shuffled sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all they could see was Borgin, looking very frightened.

"Tell anyone," said Malfoy, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for…"

"I'll decide that," said Malfoy. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not…sir."

Borgin made a bow as deep as the one Harry had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Borgin, bowing again.

The bell over the door tinkled loudly as Malfoy stalked out of the shop looking very pleased with himself while Borgin remained frozen, looking very worried.


	8. Chapter 8

**Lessons**

By Amerie

"He's a Death Eater," said Harry slowly as he, Ron and Hermione sat around Fred and George's old room. "He's replaced his father as a Death Eater!"

There was a silence; then Ron erupted in laughter. "Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?"

"It seems very unlikely, Harry," said Hermione in a repressive sort of voice. "What makes you think –?"

"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"Well…" said Ron, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

"I think he just wanted to get out of there, Harry," said Hermione.

"He showed Borgin something we couldn't see," Harry pressed on stubbornly. "Something that seriously scared Borgin. It was the Mark, I know it…he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, you saw how seriously Borgin took him!"

Ron and Hermione exchanged another look.

"I'm not sure, Harry…"

"Yeah, I still don't reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join…."

But Harry was sure he was right. He could feel it. All he had to do was find the proof. And once the proof was laid out…then what? If Malfoy was a Death Eater then…Why _was_ Malfoy a Death Eater? Why would Voldemort let someone that young join? Why Malfoy when he already had so many experienced wizards at his disposal? The questions all seemed so familiar, and it was then that Harry remembered he had asked himself these questions before, about someone who was thousands of miles away, someone who's answers he began to recall….

_Buffy was standing alone inside Mr. Giles's office. Her eyes and hands hovering over the small growing pile of weapons. Studying them. Testing their weight and some of their sharpness with her fingers. She looked at home. The sight of arrows and maces, axes and swords didn't intimidate her. It was if they were toys. As if the weapons were nothing more than playthings set out for her amusement._

_"Would you like to hold one?" she asked, her back to him and a dagger in her hands._

_ Harry immediately stiffened. His cheeks turned red and his eyes widened. He kept forgetting how easily she could sense things – people, due to her slayer abilities. Which explained a lot actually. Especially the Invisibility Cloak thing._

_ She turned to him expectantly and waved the sharp instrument she was holding as if it were a pencil. Harry smiled and reached out. Buffy placed the cold dagger in his hand. Bronzed handle first of course. Don't want him to start bleeding to death before the fun starts._

_"It's heavier than I thought it would be," he said, admiring the light reflecting on the blade._

_"Yeah, well, that's 'cause you're used to holding flimsy, little pieces of wood all the time."_

_"So are you," he countered._

_"Touché," she said with a smile. "But I've been trained in all sorts of weapons so I still win."_

_"Yeah, yeah." He ran a gentle finger along the blade. "Have you killed anything with this before?"_

_ Buffy's expression changed. It was no longer lighthearted, but stern, almost sad._

_"Yes."_

_ He didn't need, or want, to know more. Slowly he placed the dagger back on the desk and looked at the other weapons._

_"The Order chose you because you were the Slayer," he said, voicing his thoughts aloud. Thoughts that had been plaguing him since Buffy revealed her truths. "Even if you were only fifteen."_

_ He paused, and Buffy was trying to gauge the reason for his words. Wheels were turning behind those glasses, he was trying to work something out, but she had learned from Fred and George's experience not to give anything up without knowing what she was walking into._

_"I joined because I wanted to," she said._

_"I know, but it was still Dumbledore's decision wasn't it? He had to welcome you in?" he asked, and Buffy nodded. "He could've kept your secret. He could've blocked your entry to the Order because of your age. But he didn't. He wanted you to join."_

_ The wheels were whirling and Buffy could see what he was getting at. _

_"He saw my slayerness, my experiences, as a plus. A gun to a knife fight. If he needed one."_

_"Is that why he made allowances?"_

_ She gave a small nod. "He knew he needed me. He knew what I was capable of. What I could do. For him. For the Order. For you."_

_ That surprised him. Out of all the reasons Dumbledore had asked Buffy to join the Order of the Phoenix, Harry never once entered himself into the equation. And it sent a warm tingle up his spine. Buffy joined to help him. She really was full of surprises._

_"He did what he thought was necessary," he said._

_"When the other side has an inferno and all you've got is a match, you reach for the gasoline and hope that it spreads like wildfire, Harry. Fifteen or not."_

"Fifteen or not," he mumbled to himself.

_'…he made allowances…"_

_ 'He knew he needed me…What I could do. For him. For the Order. For you.'_

_ 'Fifteen or not.'_

_ 'What I could do. For him.'_

_ 'Fifteen or not.'_

Dumbledore needed Buffy because of what she could do for him. It didn't matter if she was fifteen or seventeen, it probably wouldn't have mattered if she was ten.

'_When the other side has an inferno and all you've got is a match, you reach for the gasoline and hope that it spreads like wildfire…'_

'_Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?'_

'_He knew he needed me…What I could do. For him.'_

_ 'Fifteen or not.'_

That was it. Voldemort let Malfoy join because he needed him. Needed him to do something that no other Death Eater could do. The only question was what? What can a sixteen-year-old wizard do that an experienced Death Eater couldn't? What advantages did he have? And why did it set Harry's nerves on edge at the thought of what the answer could be?

Ron found Ginny in her room, sitting crossed-legged atop her mattress, trying to spin her wand against the palm of her hand and failing miserably at least four times so far.

"I wonder how she does it," she said, still trying to maneuver the trick.

Ron shrugged as he walked into her bedroom and leaned against the set of drawers next to her bed. "Loads of practice? Not just wands, but stakes and probably other kinds of hand held things."

Ginny tried to spin the wand again only to fail, much to the amusement of her brother. She huffed in irritation before finally giving up and setting her magical instrument aside.

Buffy's coordination was definitely something to admire, but like Ron had said, it must've taken loads of practice…and some supernatural assistance might've had a hand in it, too. It was still a little odd to Ginny to hear no venom in Ron's voice when he spoke about the slayer. Their whole association was an oddity.

"It's strange. You and Buffy," she said as she gazed up at him. "You're not exactly friends. I've noticed that the only time you two talk is while we're in a group, and not always to each other. You trust her, don't you?"

She was right of course. Ron and Buffy had never shared a direct conversation with each other. Have never been left alone together. They weren't exactly friends, as Ginny had put it, but Ron's animosity and hatred no longer existed. Buffy's action had proven time and again that she was a good person. Despite the obvious hero title that came with being a slayer, Buffy herself had shined through acts of kindness, selflessness and loyalty to the people she cared for, but friendships didn't exactly switch on a like a light, especially ones with a previously unpleasant history.

"I trust that she's not evil," replied Ron, and his sister raised a contemptuous eyebrow. "I know she's a good person, Ginny. But I don't know her the way you do. The way Harry and Neville do. It's not that I don't trust her, I just don't know her enough, I guess. But…I don't know, maybe we might get there…eventually."

Ginny's face brightened. "Yeah?"

Ron shrugged with a quirk of a smile, why not? There really wasn't a reason for a true friendship to not develop, and Ron knew that he and Buffy were nearly halfway there.

"Come on," he said, recalling the reason he had come to find his sister in the first place. "Harry and Hermione want to know what Neville has to say about Buffy."

Ginny followed her brother to Harry's temporary bedroom and quickly sat down on the floor across from Harry's bed. Both Ginny and Harry had written to Buffy as soon as they got home from Diagon Alley. In addition, Ginny had written to Neville and Harry had written to Sirius for good measure. Both Neville and Sirius had written back, but there was no word from Buffy, something they had expected, and anxiety twisted their stomachs from her lack of acknowledgement.

"Well?" asked Harry.

Ginny shook her head as she ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "He hasn't heard from her either."

That was another bad sign.

"How about Sirius?" she asked.

Harry frowned. "He's being very…vague."

"Vague?" asked Hermione.

"He won't answer anything about Sunnydale or about Buffy. All he kept saying was that everyone was doing great and that he can't wait to see me when he returns."

And as happy as Harry was about seeing Sirius soon, it worried him that Sirius wouldn't reply to his specific questions about Buffy, if she was all right and why she hasn't written.

"He's avoiding," Ginny said.

"The question is, why?" Hermione said.

Living in Sunnydale was like living on a minefield. How people could live in constant fear and caution, Harry would never know…well…maybe he could. It was home. The Wizarding world had been a dangerous place since Harry had discovered it. Full of dark creatures and Death Eaters, but it was home. And as dangerous as it was, especially for him, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. And if Harry, and his friends, were able to survive death's door time and again, then Buffy, who was a Vampire Slayer _and_ a witch, could definitely survive on a Hellmouth she had protected for nearly two years.

"Maybe we're over thinking it," Harry said quietly, his eyes unfocused as he thought, convincing himself out of all the horrors that could've happened to Buffy in Sunnydale. "If something were to happen, they would have told us."

"Because they always tell us everything," Ron said sarcastically.

They were _shielded_ and _protected_ for their own good for so long that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had lost some trust in the adults that surrounded them. The adults hid things and kept secrets until it blew up in their faces, and most of it was for naught, because by the end of it, most times, Harry had been the one to fix it all, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

After some thinking, some fretting, and with resolve settling in, Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts. "No, Harry's right, we are over thinking this. If something really dreadful were to have happened to Buffy we would know. It would be too cruel for them to keep it from us."

Cruel but not unheard of.

"So, what is then?" asked Ron. "What's with all the secrecy?"

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know, but there's definitely something very strange going on."

The whole situation made them nervous. Why didn't anybody just tell them the truth? If they all really wanted them to stop asking questions than the logical thing to do would be to answer them. Buffy was their friend, or in some cases their mid-friend, they had every right to know if there was something wrong.

Harry sighed. "Well, the good news is we don't have to wait very long to find out."

"How so?" asked Ron.

"Because we go back to Hogwarts tomorrow," Hermione replied.


	9. Chapter 9

**Lessons**

By Amerie

The Ministry cars glided up to the front of the Burrow on Sunday. Hermione's cat, Crookshanks was safely enclosed in his traveling basket as well as Hedwig, Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, and Ginny's new purple Pygmy Puff, Arnold, whom she had purchased from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Aurevoir, 'Arry," said Fleur throatily, kissing him good-bye. Ron hurried forward, looking hopeful, but Ginny stuck out her foot and Ron fell, sprawling in the dust at Fleur's feet. Furious, red-faced, and dirt-spattered, he hurried into the car without saying good-bye.

There was no cheerful Hagrid waiting for them at King's Cross Station. Instead, two grim-faced, bearded Aurors in dark Muggle suits moved forward the moment the cars stopped and, flanking the party, marched them into the station without speaking.

"Quick, quick, through the barrier," said Mrs. Weasley, who seemed a little flustered by this austere efficiency. "Harry had better go first, with…"

She looked inquiringly at one of the Aurors, who nodded briefly, seized Harry's upper arm, and attempted to steer him toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

"I can walk, thanks," said Harry irritably, jerking his arm out of the Auror's grip. He pushed his trolley directly at the solid barrier, ignoring his silent companion, and found himself, a second later, standing on platform nine and three-quarters, where the scarlet Hogwarts Express stood, belching steam over the crowd. And his eyes caught the steam rolling over someone in particular.

Ron and Hermione joined him in seconds and when they noticed Harry's focused attention they followed his line of sight and comfort immediately settled in.

Next to the train was the worn out, yet happy, appearance of Remus Lupin. His coat was no longer tattered. Neither were his trousers. He looked almost brand new. Except for the premature lines that were etched permanently into his face. And the tired expression that refused to leave his eyes. He was taking to another man that Harry could only see the back of. Remus must have sensed the stare in his direction because his gaze moved over to Harry's and a smile appeared on his lips. He gently slapped the man's arm and gestured over the man's shoulder with his chin. And when the man turned around Harry's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Is that…?" Ron trailed away.

"Snuffles?" Harry said.

He was wearing a dark navy suit. The jacket left open to reveal a crisp, white button-down, casually left open at the top, and no tie of course. His black leather shoes nearly gleaming in the light as he walked toward Harry. His hair was black and cut short, styled in a wayward, carefree way that stuck up in different directions, which unlike Harry's, was done with purpose. His face was clean-shaven and tanned and he was wearing black horn-rimmed glasses. Glasses that framed striking grey eyes that lit up against his wide smile.

"Harry," he said with relief and enveloped the boy in a powerful hug.

The voice was unmistakable. As were the eyes. And Harry couldn't believe it.

"Sirius?" Harry whispered. He was almost unrecognizable, and if Harry did not know him as well as he did, he would've never guessed in a million years that the man hugging him was Sirius Black.

Sirius chuckled and patted Harry on the back before pulling away. "You've gotten taller."

"State your name," a gruff voice said beside Harry.

Sirius looked to the bearded man with the wand in his hand that twitched with readiness. His grey eyes cool as he analyzed him. He turned to Remus, who had come to stand beside him, and when Remus nodded, Sirius knew that this must be one of the Aurors that was sent to guard Harry on his passage to the Hogwarts Express. And not doing that great of a job if Sirius, who was meant to be a stranger, had gotten close enough to Harry to give him a hug without disruption. He was going to have to take to Dumbledore about that.

"Gary Summers," Sirius replied calmly, giving a sly wink to Harry as he placed his hands inside his trouser pockets.

The Auror remained silent as he mentally ticked through the 'Harry Potter Approved Visitor List'. And it looked like the name passed because he nodded once and stepped back to stand next to his fellow bodyguard.

"Gary Summers?" Harry whispered.

"Go along. Remember what Dumbledore told you about the last son of the House of Black," he whispered in reply.

_'It's imperative that the Ministry, that the rest of the world, believe that Sirius Black is dead.'_

"Right," said Harry.

Sirius patted his shoulder reassuringly, and turned to rest of the party. "Ron! Hermione! Good to see you!"

"Good to see you, too, Mr. Summers," Hermione replied, immediately catching onto the game, even if she hadn't heard Harry and Sirius's whispered conversation. "You look well."

"As do you. Molly. Arthur. Ginny!" he greeted gleefully and went to greet them properly with handshakes and hugs.

"Hi, Remus," greeted the cheery chorus of Ron, Harry and Hermione.

"Hello," he said, his smile wide due to his enjoyment of the recent surprise. "Good to see all of you again."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" Harry asked as he looked at his godfather.

"He wanted it to be a surprise."

"And what a surprise," Ron said. The entire group gathered together on the platform in a bunch, and Ron stared at Sirius. "You didn't look like that when we left you."

"Buffy thought I needed a change. Apparently the Lestat look was over."

"Is Buffy here?" Ginny asked as she, and the rest of the children, looked over the platform; missing the uneasy glances between Sirius and Remus.

"No, she's…she's not here. She'll, uh, she'll be meeting you at Hogwarts," Sirius replied.

There was that secrecy again. And they were getting frustrated.

Ginny scoffed and rolled her eyes but didn't say a word, which was best, considering the words she wanted to say at the moment were not mother approved.

"At Hogwarts? She won't be riding on the train?" Hermione asked.

"No, she had some business to tie up, but she'll meet you there," he replied, but something about the tone of his voice wasn't very reassuring.

"Sir – Gary, we know something's wrong," said Harry, and the adults could feel their panic rising. "But no one's telling us anything. Even Buffy hasn't written to us."

They were worried but they didn't really know anything. Good. But they knew something wasn't right, it was bound to happen, especially since Buffy had decided to keep silent. But as of now, it wasn't their concern, not until they figured out what it really meant.

"Everything's fine, Harry, really. She'll be there, don't worry." There was that tone again. It sounded unsure, hopeful, as if he was praying for it to be true.

"But –"

"Well, all right, all right, come on, everyone straight on the train, all of you, you've only got a few minutes to go," said Mrs. Weasley urgently.

They knew she was rushing them on purpose, but the teenagers moved nonetheless, it wasn't like they were going to get any answers.

Before stepping onto the train Harry paused. A thought coming to him. And he would feel much more comfortable if someone was looking into that business at Borgin and Burkes when he couldn't.

"Mr. Weasley, can I have a quick word?" inquired Harry.

"Of course," said Mr. Weasley, who looked slightly surprised, but followed Harry out of earshot of the others nonetheless.

Harry had come to the conclusion that, if he was to tell anyone, Mr. Weasley was the right person; firstly, because he worked at the Ministry, and secondly, because he thought that there was not too much risk of Mr. Weasley exploding with anger.

He could see Mrs. Weasley, the grim-faced Aurors, Remus, and, especially, Sirius casting the pair of them suspicious looks as they moved away. But Harry wouldn't be deterred, and away from prying ears, Harry explained to Mr. Weasley all about Malfoy, about his business being a Death Eater and what he had seen and heard at Borgin and Burkes. Though Mr. Weasley didn't seem all that worried by it, just like his son.

"If Malfoy wants something fixing, and he needs to threaten Borgin to get it done, it's probably something Dark or dangerous, isn't it?"

"I doubt it, to be honest, Harry," said Mr. Weasley slowly. "You see, when Lucius Malfoy was arrested, we raided his house. We took away everything that might have been dangerous."

Harry shook his head in disagreement. "I think you missed something."

"Well, maybe," said Mr. Weasley, but Harry could tell that Mr. Weasley was only humoring him.

The last boarding whistle blew and nearly everyone had boarded the train.

"You'd better hurry!" said Mr. Weasley, as Mrs. Weasley cried, "Harry, quickly!"

Disappointed in Mr. Weasley's lack of reaction, Harry hurried forward as Sirius joined to help him load his trunk onto the train.

"Care to share what you and Arthur were talking about?"

Harry shifted his eyes left and right, cautions of those around him. What a sad thing it was how much Harry had learned to never trust so easily anymore.

"Later. I promise," he said and paused, anxiety in his features. "So, everything's really okay?"

No. It wasn't.

"Yeah," replied Sirius with a nod and hugged Harry one last time.

Harry held on tightly. "It's great to see you so happy, _Gary_."

Sirius chuckled. "Who could've guessed that the Hellmouth would've agreed with me, eh?"

Harry chuckled as they parted and Sirius ruffled Harry's hair before stepping back. Harry finally moved into the train and to a window where he could see them and wave his goodbyes.

"Now, dear, you're coming to us for Christmas, it's all fixed with Dumbledore, so we'll see you quite soon," said Mrs. Weasley through the open window, and the train began to move. "You make sure you look after yourself and…" The train was gathering speed. "…be good and…" She was jogging to keep up now. "…stay safe!"

Harry waved until the train had turned a corner and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Sirius and Remus were lost to view.

Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, and Harry figured they were in the prefect's carriage, and he wouldn't have minded being left alone if it weren't for the fact that people were staring and whispering about him, all wanting to get a look at the 'Chosen One'. Pfft, Chosen One. There was only one Chosen One, or technically two, but his Ch – er, the one he was thinking about, was not on the train, and, Merlin, knows what the hell was going on with her and her mysterious silence.

Pushing his irritation at the attention aside, Harry spotted Ginny talking to a group of her friends and went to tap her on the shoulder.

"Fancy trying to find a compartment?"

"I can't, Harry, I said I'd meet Dean," said Ginny brightly.

"Oh, right."

"See you later," she bade quickly.

He felt a small twinge of annoyance as she walked away. He had become so used to her presence over the summer that he had almost forgotten that Ginny did not hang around with him, Ron, and Hermione while at school.

"Hi, Harry!" said a familiar voice from behind him.

"Neville!" greeted Harry in relief.

"Hello, Harry," said a girl with long hair and large misty eyes, who was just behind Neville.

"Luna, hi, how are you?"

"Very well, thank you," replied Luna. She was clutching a magazine to her chest; large letters on the front announced that there was a pair of free Spectrespecs inside.

"Did Buffy come with you?" asked Neville eagerly. "I-I've been worried, since, you know, w-we haven't heard anything…"

"No, actually, she…" Harry took a deep, irritated breath. "They said she'll be meeting us there. At Hogwarts."

It was like everything stopped. As if the air was too delicate to shift.

Neville and Luna felt their stomachs drop. Their expressions mirroring the one Harry had when he first heard the news – confused, annoyed and worried.

"Meeting us?"

"She's not on the train?" asked Luna and Harry shook his head.

"Did they say why?" inquired Neville.

"No." He gave an annoyed scoffed. "They're not telling us anything."

"I don't understand," said Luna.

Harry sighed. "Yeah, neither do I." None of them understood. And apparently they weren't meant to. "Come on, let's go find seats."

Quietly, as they let their minds wander, they searched for seating, ignoring the many stares and whispers that surrounded them.

"S-something's wrong. There has to be," said Neville, finally coming upon an empty compartment and settling inside.  
>"Yeah, but they won't tell us. I thought at least Fred and George would've told us something, but…"<p>

Luna was unusually quiet. Typically, she would voice an opinion on the subject or talk about some sort of mythical creature, sometimes she gave vague, random theories or advice that seemed senseless but were in fact not senseless at all. But she hadn't said a word and it was unnerving

"Luna?" Neville prodded.

Luna Lovegood was a very observant girl with a gift for clairvoyant abilities (through her mother's side). She saw things no one else saw. Believed in things no one else believed. Had formed special connections with the people she loved, which allowed her to sense her friends when something was wrong, but at this very moment that connection failed her. For the first time Luna Lovegood didn't feel Buffy's presence in her world. She hadn't accidently stepped into her dreams as she sometimes did and the sky did not offer any signs of what was to come. For the first time Luna was lost and she didn't like it.

Luna's large, misty eyes looked at Harry and Neville. They were both so confused and worried and Luna couldn't offer them any advice, any wisdom she was used to offering.

"I don't understand any of it," she said honestly.

Though strange and confusing, hearing Luna ramble off about something had become comforting. It was like she had this special link to the world that made them think that no matter what was happening it was all going to be okay because Luna knew _something_, whatever that _something_ was didn't matter as long as Luna knew it. But not hearing it now made them uneasy.

They became quiet again. Lost in their minds in worry and questions. Buffy was still alive, that much was for sure, because they would've said if she…they would've told them otherwise. But there was something they were hiding, something serious. Was there something wrong with Buffy? Was she alive but not okay? What if it was Sunnydale? What if she couldn't leave? What if –

A disturbance came outside their compartment door and a group of fourth-year girls were whispering and giggling together on the other side of the glass.

"You ask him!"

"No, you!"

"I'll do it!"

And one of them, a bold-looking girl with large dark eyes, a prominent chin and long black hair pushed her way through the door.

"Hi, Harry, I'm Romilda, Romilda Vane," she said loudly and confidently. "Why don't you join us in our compartment? You don't have to sit with them," she added in a stage whisper, indicating to Neville and Luna.

"They're friends of mine," said Harry coldly.

"Oh," said the girl, looking very surprised. "Oh. Okay."

And she withdrew, sliding the door closed behind her.

"People expect you to have cooler friends than us," said Luna, once again displaying her knack for embarrassing honesty.

"You are cool," said Harry shortly. "None of them were at the Ministry. They didn't fight with me. They weren't in Sunnydale fighting off vampires were they?"

"That was a very memorable night," said Luna, smiling fondly.

"We didn't face him, though," said Neville. "You did. You should hear my gran talk about you. 'That Harry Potter's got more backbone than the whole Ministry of Magic put together!' She'd give anything to have you as a grandson…"

Harry laughed uncomfortably and changed the subject to O.W.L results as soon as he could. While Neville recited his grades Harry watched him without really listening. Thinking back to the prophecy and his conversation with Dumbledore and how very close Neville had come to having Harry's destiny.

"You all right, Harry? You look funny," said Neville.

Harry started. "Sorry…I…"

"Wrackspurt got you?" asked Luna sympathetically.

"I…what?"

"A Wrackspurt…They're invisible. They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," she said. "I thought I felt one zooming around in here."

She flapped her hands at thin air, as though beating off large invisible moths. Harry and Neville caught each other's eyes and they gave soft wisps of smiles, because Luna was acting like Luna and it was comforting.


	10. Chapter 10

**Lessons**

By Amerie

The weather was patchy as it had been all summer; misty with very weak sunlight, but it was during one of the clear spells, when the sun was visible almost directly overhead, that Ron and Hermione entered the compartment at last.

"Hi, Neville. Hi, Luna. Guess what?" said Ron, turning to Harry after flopping down next to him. "Malfoys not doing prefect duty. He's just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed."

Harry sat up straight. It was not like Malfoy to pass up the chance to demonstrate his power as prefect, which he had happily abused all the previous year.

"Did he see you?"

Ron shook his head. "He was too preoccupied with Pansy and the lot. It's strange though, isn't it? Him not out there bullying the first years like normal? He seems different, even when we saw him at Diagon Alley."

Ron was right. Malfoy had been acting different, with a coldness they hadn't seen before. He had seemed so detached from those around him. As if he were surrounded by an isolated air that no one should touch.

And Harry had a theory as to the reason why.

"Maybe because he's a –"

But Harry didn't get to finish his theory, though Ron and Hermione knew what the theory was, because the compartment door slid open and a breathless third-year girl stepped inside.

"I'm supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom and Harry P-Potter," she faltered, as her eyes met Harry's and she turned scarlet. She was holding out two scrolls of parchment tied with a violet ribbon. Perplexed, Harry and Neville took the scroll addressed to each of them and the girl stumbled back out of the compartment.

"What is it?" Ron demanded, as Harry unrolled his.

"An invitation," said Harry.

_Harry,_

_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor H. E. F. Slughorn_

"But what does he want me for?" asked Neville nervously, as though he was expecting detention.

"No idea," said Harry, which was not entirely true, though he had no proof yet that his hunch was correct.

As Harry and Neville made their way out into the corridor, every now and then, students would hurtle out of their compartments to get a better look at him. The exception was Cho Chang, who darted into her compartment when she saw Harry coming.

When they reached compartment C, they saw at once that they were not Slughorn's only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn's welcome, Harry was the most warmly anticipated.

"Harry, m'boy!" said Slughorn, jumping up at the sight of him. "Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!"

Neville nodded, looking apprehensive. At a gesture from Slughorn, they sat down opposite each other in two empty seats, which were nearest the door. Harry glanced around at their fellow guests. He recognized a Slytherin from their year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there were also two seventh-year boys Harry did not know and, squashed in the corner beside Slughorn and looking as though she was not entirely sure how she had got there, Ginny.

"Now, do you know everyone?" Slughorn asked Harry and Neville, and went about introducing them without waiting for a reply, "…and this charming young lady tells me she knows you!" Slughorn finished.

Ginny grimaced at Harry and Neville from behind Slughorn's back.

"I was meant to have one more guest but I couldn't seem to find the girl anywhere," he said sounding like a petulant child who wouldn't be given his toy. "Has anyone seen Buffy Summers?" It was the million-knut question of the day, and Neville, Harry and Ginny stiffened their backs. "I looked and asked, but no one seems to know where she is."

"No, she's not on the train. I heard she was arriving at Hogwarts by different means," Ginny replied, wondering what his interest in Buffy was, always suspicious when anyone took an interest in her friend given her Slayer status.

"Really? Oh, such a shame. I'm very eager to meet her. She comes from a very long line of inventors. Very creative minds the Summers line. Remarkable with potions. They were the ones to invent the Polyjuice potion, you know."

Well that was some very surprising information right there. One the entire cabin found interesting.

"They were?" asked Ginny.

"Oh yes, yes. They're incredibly resilient with all sorts of potions, especially medical ones. Very good at thinking outside the box. Absolutely brilliant minds."

Ginny looked at Neville and Harry, and it was obvious by their expressions that they had no clue of Buffy's brilliant family line. What else was she hiding?

"Well now, guess I'll have to look her up once we get to the castle, but this is most pleasant," said Slughorn cozily. "A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I've packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man's digestive system isn't quite up to such things…Pheasant, Belby?"

The conversation rolled on with the train. Everyone in the compartment was either in relation to a very successful or famous wizard or was on track in becoming one. And Slughorn was ready to snatch up a possibility. Blaise Zabini, Marcus Belby, Cormac McLaggen and Neville were in the compartment due to family connections, though Slughorn did not seem all that impressed with Neville himself. Ginny was there because Slughorn had witnessed her excellent Bat Bogey hex and was impressed with her power. And Harry was there because he was Harry Potter the 'Chosen One' as the Daily Prophet put it. Harry knew it, which was way he was only paying the minimal of attention.

The afternoon wore on with more anecdotes about illustrious wizards Slughorn had taught, all of whom had been delighted to join what he called the 'Slug Club' at Hogwarts. Harry could not wait to leave, but couldn't see how to do so politely.

Finally the train emerged from yet another long misty stretch into a red sunset, and Slughorn looked around, blinking in the twilight.

"Good gracious, it's getting dark already! I didn't notice that they'd lit the lamps! You'd better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on nogtails. Harry, Blaise – any time you're passing. Same goes for you, miss," he twinkled at Ginny. "Well, off you go, off you go!"

As he pushed past Harry into the darkening corridor, Zabini shot him a filthy look that Harry returned with interest. He, Ginny, and Neville followed Zabini back along the train when an idea occurred to Harry, a reckless but potentially wonderful idea…

"I'll see you two later," said Harry under his breath, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak and flinging it over himself.

"But what're you –?" asked Neville.

"Later!" whispered Harry, darting after Zabini as quietly as possible, leaving a stunned Ginny and Neville in his wake.

The corridors were almost completely empty now. Nearly everyone had returned to their carriages to change into their school robes and pack up their possessions. Though he was as close as he could get to Zabini without touching him, Harry was not quick enough to slip into the compartment when Zabini opened the door, who was already sliding it shut when Harry hastily stuck out his foot to prevent it closing.

"What's wrong with this thing?" he said angrily as he smashed the sliding door repeatedly into Harry's foot.

Harry seized the door and pushed it open, hard; Zabini, still clinging on to the handle, toppled over sideways into Goyle's lap, and in the ensuing ruckus, Harry darted into the compartment, leapt onto Zabini's temporarily empty seat, and hoisted himself up into the luggage rack. It was fortunate that Goyle and Zabini were snarling at each other, drawing all eyes onto them, for Harry was quite sure his feet and ankles had been revealed as the cloak had flapped around them; indeed, for one horrible moment he thought he saw Malfoy's eyes follow his trainer as it whipped upward out of sight. But then Goyle slammed the door shut and flung Zabini off him, who then collapsed into his own seat looking ruffled, Crabbe returned to his comic, and Malfoy, sniggering, lay back down across two seats with his head in Pansy Parkinson's lap as she stroked his hair. Now what would Buffy say about that? So much for loyalty.

Harry lay curled uncomfortably under the cloak to ensure that every inch of him remained hidden, and watched Pansy stroke the sleek blond hair off Malfoy's forehead, smirking as she did so. But what Harry couldn't see was the fear that still stirred inside of Pansy at the thought of Draco seeing Buffy again.

It was by some miracle that Draco had sent Pansy a letter yesterday morning, demanding she wait for him by the Hogwarts Express the next day. And she had done so, nearly weeping with joy when she saw Draco heading in her direction. He didn't smile or even give a proper greeting, he merely looked her over, gave a deep, resolute sigh, grabbed her hand and led her to an empty compartment at the back of the train. He didn't say so, but Pansy was sure he had forgiven her for her hand in expelling Buffy last year, why else would he demand to see her, why else would he have held her hand, why else was he resting his head on her lap and letting her run her fingers through his hair. Draco had given her another chance, she was sure of it, and Pansy was dead set on not mucking it up.

"So, Zabini," said Malfoy, "what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," he replied. "Not that he managed to find many."

This information did not seem to please Malfoy, as a matter of fact he looked almost offended.

"Who else had he invited?" he demanded.

"McLaggen from Gryffindor."

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry."

"– someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw…"

"Not him, he's a prat!" said Pansy.

"– and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl. Slughorn also meant to invite Buffy but the Weasley girl said she wasn't on the train."

Malfoy sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy's hand aside. His eyes were wide and his jaw tense, looking afraid. While Pansy huffed with her arms crossed making her feelings very clear about the topic of conversation.

"She's not on the train?" he asked, a slight panic in his voice.

"Not according to her."

"Did she say where she was?"

"No, she –"

"With her small brain she probably flunked all her O. and wasn't allowed back into Hogwarts," Pansy said haughtily.

"Shut up, Pansy!" Malfoy demanded, nearly growled.

Here they go again. It was going great. Fantastic even. Draco was being nice, and even a little affectionate, and just the mention of Buffy's name and – why couldn't that stupid girl just leave them alone!

He was not supposed to care. He was not supposed to care. That was the deal he made with himself. She was no longer his – where the hell was she?! Why wasn't she on the bloody train?! What did she do? Sleep through her wakeup call?! Draco knew for a fact that Buffy took the O.W.L exams she had missed after Umbridge expelled her. He heard she was coming back to Hogwarts. How can she not – what if she changed her mind? What if she wasn't coming back? It wouldn't be the first time Buffy left Hogwarts. But what if she couldn't? What if that _place_ – Damn it! He wasn't supposed to care.

"She's still coming back to school, Pansy," said Zabini, though he was looking at Malfoy as he said it. "The Weasley girl said she was arriving by a different means."

Malfoy visibly relaxed. Every tense muscle unclenched and he sagged against his seat. By the looks of it, Malfoy hadn't heard from Buffy in the past few weeks either.

Draco set Buffy to the back of his mind. In a little metal box along with her lilacs and letters and went back to acting as if she meant nothing.

"Well, who cares who Slughorn is interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher," said Malfoy though any maliciousness was gone. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" said Pansy indignantly.

"Well, you never know," said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. "I might have – er – moved on to bigger and better things."

Crouched in the luggage rack under his cloak, Harry's heart began to race. What would Ron and Hermione say about this? Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at Malfoy; apparently they had had no inkling of any plans to move on to bigger and better things. Even Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features.

"Do you mean – Him?" asked Pansy.

Malfoy shrugged. "Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it…When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O. or N.E. anyone's got? Of course he isn't. It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" asked Zabini scathingly. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for," said Malfoy quietly.

Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything so awe-inspiring.

"I can see Hogwarts," said Malfoy, clearly relishing the effect he had created as he pointed out of the blackened window. "We'd better get our robes on."

Harry was so busy staring at Malfoy, he did not notice Goyle reaching up for his trunk; as he swung it down it hit Harry hard on the side of the head. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and Malfoy looked up at the luggage rack, frowning.

Harry was not afraid of Malfoy, but he still did not much like the idea of being discovered hiding under his Invisibility Cloak by a group of unfriendly Slytherins. Eyes still watering and head still throbbing, he drew his wand, careful not to disarrange the cloak, and waited, breath held. To his relief, Malfoy seemed to decide that he had imagined the noise; he pulled on his robes like the others, locked his trunk, and as the train slowed to a jerky crawl, fastened a thick new traveling cloak round his neck.

Harry could see the corridors filling up again and hoped that Hermione and Ron would take his things out onto the platform for him; he was stuck where he was until the compartment had emptied. At last, with a final lurch, the train came to a complete halt. Goyle threw the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd of second years, pushing them aside; Crabbe and Zabini followed.

"You go on," Malfoy told Pansy, who was waiting for him with her hand held out as though hoping he would hold it. "I just want to check something."

Pansy left disappointed with the fear beginning to stir in her chest. They were at Hogwarts now, Buffy will be there and…Merlin, Pansy hoped Draco would at least be kind and not ignore her presence, because when it came to Draco, he saw Buffy and no one else, not even the girl who's been in love with him longer than Pansy could remember.

Harry and Malfoy were now alone in the compartment. Malfoy moved over to the door and let down the blinds, so that people in the corridor beyond could not peer in. He then bent down over his trunk and opened it again.

Harry peered down over the edge of the luggage rack, his heart pumping a little faster. What had Malfoy wanted to hide from Pansy? Was he about to see the mysterious broken object it was so important to mend?

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Without warning, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry, who was instantly paralyzed. As though in slow motion, he toppled out of the luggage rack and fell, with an agonizing, floor-shaking crash, at Malfoy's feet, the Invisibility Cloak trapped beneath him, his whole body revealed with his legs still curled absurdly into the cramped kneeling position. He couldn't move a muscle; he could only gaze up at Malfoy, who smiled broadly.

"I thought so," he said jubilantly. "I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back…" His eyes lingered for a moment upon Harry's trainers. "You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here…" And he stamped, hard, on Harry's face. Harry felt his nose break; blood spurted everywhere. "That's from my father. Now, let's see…" Malfoy dragged the cloak out from under Harry's immobilized body and threw it over him. "I don't reckon they'll find you till the train is back in London," he said quietly. "See you around, Potter…or not."

And taking care to tread on Harry's fingers, Malfoy left the compartment.


	11. Chapter 11

**Lessons**

By Amerie

"Neville!"

The Great Hall was crowded. And loud. And very active. There was more milling around than sitting down. Students went from table to table and bench to bench to greet and gossip. To say hello to friends they hadn't seen in months.

But there was still no Buffy Summers in sight.

When Neville heard his name he turned round so quickly that the room spun for a second. His heart was hopeful, but when he saw that the girl who was waving and running in his direction had black hair and not blonde, his heart deflated. Though he was still glad to see the new arrival.

"Neville," she said breathlessly and hugged him. "It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, Susie."

She had grown a few inches, but she still had the same pretty, childish face he had come to brotherly love.

"Luna! Ginny! Hi!" she said gleefully, spotting them over Neville's shoulder, and once she released him she made her way to the girls. "I've missed you guys."

"We've missed you, too," said Ginny giving her squeeze.

Susie stepped back and her blue eyes whizzed around them. "Where's Buffy?"

'Where's Buffy?' That was a very excellent question.

"We don't know. We were told she would be here," replied Luna.

Susie frowned. "You were told? She didn't come with you? I mean, I didn't see her on the train, any of you, so I just assumed…"

Ginny shook her head. "She wasn't with us. Or on the train. They told us she would be meeting us here, but…"

But that appeared to be a lie. Everyone gazed over the room again. Searching desperately for the sight of familiar blonde hair and getting even more anxious when they couldn't find it.

"She isn't here," said Ron, as he and Hermione came to join them. "Hi, Susie."

"Hi, Ron. Hi, Hermione."

"Hi, Susie," she greeted, but there was no brightness in her voice. A new mystery had been evoked and it made her uneasy. "Harry's not here either. We've looked everywhere. Nobody's seen either of them." She set her worried eyes on Neville and Ginny. "He didn't say where he'd be going?"

Neville shook his head. "He pulled the cloak over him and said he'd see us later."

"But it definitely looked like he was following Blaise," Ginny added.

"He probably went to spy on Draco," Hermione deduced.

"And now he's missing. School's definitely starting with a bang, isn't it?" Ron joked dryly.

The stream of students coming into the Great Hall began to dry up. Six pairs of eyes watched the entrance anxiously. It was too loud and too busy and it didn't help their nerves. Where were they?

"There's Malfoy," Ron said, and they all watched as the Slytherin came into the Hall. Alone.

There was the tiniest of hope that Buffy would be walking in with her bestest Slytherin friend, or that Harry would be dragging a bloodied Malfoy in by a broken arm, but that hope was dashed at the sight of Malfoy's lone body without a hair out place. He looked tense as he walked slowly to the rest of the Slytherins, his eyes rapidly darting along the Gryffindor table, and then narrowing when he spotted Buffy's group of friends, searching through every space between them, and at finding nothing, he swept his vision across the room.

"He's looking for her," said Ginny.

Malfoy reached his seat but his eyes didn't rest. He sat down between Pansy and Goyle and ignored everyone as his vision skimmed the crowds again.

"It's official then," said Ron. "No one knows where the hell Buffy is."

Harry felt like a turtle. With a bloody nose. In ice.

He couldn't move, but his blood flow seemed to be working properly, flowing hot and wet over his face from his busted nose, thanks to Malfoy. And if it weren't for Tonks who knows how long Harry would've stayed invisible on the train.

She was stationed in Hogsmeade, for extra school protection, and when she noticed Harry hadn't exited the train with everyone else, Tonks went searching. And thankfully, knowing about his Invisibility Cloak, had found him in the compartment with the suspiciously drawn blinds. She swished the cloak off him, undid Malfoy's 'Petrificus Totalus' and then they jumped off the slowly moving train and to the platform at Hogsmeade.

From what Harry could see in the darkness, she was as mousy-haired and miserable-looking as she had since he last saw her.

"I can fix your nose if you stand still."

Harry had been intending to visit Madam Pomfrey, in whom he had a little more confidence when it came to Healing Spells, but it seemed rude to say this, so he stayed stock-still and closed his eyes.

"Episkey," said Tonks.

Harry's nose felt very hot and then very cold. He raised a hand and felt it gingerly. It seemed to be mended.

"Thanks."

Tonks waved her wand and an immense silvery four-legged creature erupted from it and streaked off into the darkness.

"Was that a Patronus?" asked Harry, who had seen Dumbledore send messages like this.

"Yes, I'm sending word to the castle that I've got you or they'll worry. Come on, we'd better not dawdle."

They set off toward the lane that led to the school. Having always traveled there by carriage, Harry had never before appreciated just how far Hogwarts was from Hogsmeade Station. After a long way, with great relief he finally saw the tall pillars on either side of the gates, each topped with a winged boar. He was cold, he was hungry and he was quite keen to leave this new, gloomy Tonks behind. But when he put out a hand to push open the gates, he found them chained shut.

"Someone's coming down for you," said Tonks, "Look."

A lantern was bobbing at the distant foot of the castle. Harry was so pleased to see it he felt he could even endure Filch's wheezy criticisms of his tardiness and rants about how his timekeeping would improve with the regular application of thumbscrews. It was not until the glowing yellow light was ten feet away from them that he recognized, with a rush of pure loathing, the uplit hooked nose and long, black, greasy hair of Severus Snape.

And he was as loathsome as ever.

Tonks's message was meant for Hagrid, but the half-giant was late to the feast and Snape so graciously accepted it on his behalf. He belittled Harry for his tardiness as soon as he opened the gates, even taking off fifty House Points for it. He even lay into Tonks. Criticizing her on her 'new' and 'weak' Patronus, whatever that meant, before shutting and locking the gates in her face. Harry bade goodbye to the Auror and reluctantly followed the Potions Master up toward the castle.

"I suppose you wanted to make an entrance, did you?" Snape said. "And with no flying car available you decided that bursting into the Great Hall halfway through the feast ought to create a dramatic effect."

Harry remained silent, though he thought his chest might explode. He knew that Snape had come to fetch him for this, for the few minutes when he could needle and torment Harry without anyone else listening.

They reached the castle steps at last and, as the great oaken front doors swung open into the vast flagged entrance hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing open into the Great Hall. Harry turned on the spot and marched straight through to get away from Snape as quickly as possible.

The Great Hall with its four long House tables and its staff table set at the top of the room was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow. It was all a shimmering blur to Harry, however, who walked so fast that he was passing the Hufflepuff table before people really started to stare, and by the time they were standing up to get a good look at him, he had spotted Ron and Hermione, sped along the benches toward them, and forced his way in between them.

"Where've you – blimey, what've you done to your face?" said Ron, goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" said Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.

"You're covered in blood!" said Hermione. "Come here –"

She raised her wand, said "Tergeo!" and siphoned off the dried blood.

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling his now clean face. "How's my nose looking?

"Normal," said Hermione anxiously. "Why shouldn't it? Harry, what happened? We've been terrified!"

"I'll tell you later," said Harry curtly. There were other things on his mind, and just because he hadn't mentioned it, or they hadn't mentioned it to him, didn't mean he was oblivious to it and he looked down the table again. "Where is she?"

Hermione deflated and gave a despondent sigh. "She's not here."

"She's not here?!" he exclaimed loud enough to turn a few heads. Conscious of the eyes on him, Harry restrained his volume but not his temperament. "What do you mean she's not here?"

"Ron and Hermione looked everywhere, Harry," replied Neville. "A-and we asked everybody, we did, but no one's seen her."

Harry glanced at the Head Table. "Did anyone ask any of the teachers? Dumbledore? McGonagall?"

"We wanted to, but whenever we tried to grab their attention they were…_busy_," said Ginny.

Ron snorted. "More like ignoring."

They all turned to the Head table and watched the teachers dining on their meals and joyfully interacting with each other. Hagrid gave a little wave in Harry's direction and Harry waved back. No one looked worried or even cast curious glances at the Gryffindor table. Surely Dumbledore must know that a student was missing. A student who was a slayer and a member of the Order wouldn't be so easily missed would she?

"I think they know why she's not here," said a perceptive Susie. "If they didn't they'd be more anxious don't you think?"

It was a good point made but it didn't ease any of their worry.

"Most likely, but I'd feel a lot better knowing why myself," replied Ginny.

"But if they know at least that means that she's ok, right?"

One would think so, if one didn't know about Buffy's secret identity, and the sometimes special missions she may be asked to do for a secret organization that was at the forefront of defeating one of the most dangerous dark wizards in existence.

"Yeah, probably," said Ginny, adding a smile that wasn't so convincing.

Everyone looked ahead as Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly

"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

Dumbledore's right hand was as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to fetch Harry from the Dursleys. Whispers hit the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now…to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you…"

They were all seated, but she was nowhere to be found. Draco kept his eyes trained on the Gryffindor table hoping that Buffy would somehow magically appear, but when he caught Susie's eye, the only one he liked and trusted out of Buffy's bunch, and she shook her head, he knew that not only was Buffy not there, but that none of her idiotic friends knew where she was either. What the bloody hell was going?

Dumbledore reminded everyone of the usual school rules, and on behalf of Mr. Filch, gave a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He instructed students on giving their names to their Heads of Houses if they wished to play for their House Quidditch teams, or if they wished to fill the seat as new Quidditch commentators, before he finally he came to announce the new face at the staff table.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn –" Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waist-coated belly casting the table into shadow "– is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."

_Potions_? The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right.

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"But, Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!" said Hermione.

"I thought he was!" said Harry, racking his brains to remember when Dumbledore had told him this, but now that he came to think of it, he was unable to recall Dumbledore ever telling him what Slughorn would be teaching.

Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up at the mention of his name; he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table, yet Harry was sure he could detect a look of triumph on the features he loathed so much.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not the only ones who had been talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire.

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."

The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was not looking at Dumbledore. He had his arms crossed atop the table and his gaze seemed fixated on the food that lay untouched before him.

"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out after hours. I also cannot express enough that no one should enter the Forbidden Forest without proper supervision at all times, especially once night falls. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety." Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more. "But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip, pip!"

With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories.

"If someone wants to ask Dumbledore now would be the time," said Hermione, and she darted ahead to fulfill her prefect duty of shepherding the first-years.

"Ron and I will go," said Harry to Ginny, Susie and Neville. "You guys go and check the dormitory."

Neville and the girls nodded and raced out of the Hall, and when Ron and Harry turned towards the Head table, Dumbledore was already gone. So was McGonagall.

"That's not suspicious at all," said Ron.

There was no Dumbledore, no McGonagall, but there was Hagrid. Maybe he knew something, no harm in asking, and he was already heading their way.

"How come yeh were late, Harry? I was worried," he said.

"Got held up on the train," said Harry. "Why were you late?"

"I was with Grawp," said Hagrid happily. "Los' track o' the time. He's got a new home up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it — nice big cave. He's much happier than he was in the forest. We were havin' a good chat."

"Really? That's great," said Harry. "Listen, Hagrid, I don't know if you've noticed or not but Buffy's not here and…" Harry slowed his words when he saw Hagrid's large eyes get even larger and he began to fidget with his beard. "…and we were wondering –"

"No need ter be wonderin', Harry. She's fine – jus' fine. She'll be here don' worry," he said a little too cheery for their liking. "Anyway, I'll see yeh tomorrow, firs' lesson's straight after lunch. Come early an' yeh can say hello ter Buck — I mean, Witherwings!"

Raising an arm in farewell, he nearly ran out the doors and into the darkness.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"She'll _be_ here?" Ron asked. "What happened to _she'll meet you there_?"

Harry breathed out harshly. "Come on," he said, and they sped out of the Hall and towards the Gryffindor tower.

They were going up the stairs when a thought occurred to Harry. "You're not taking Care of Magical Creatures, are you?"

Ron shook his head. "And you're not either, are you?"

Harry shook his head, too.

"And Hermione," said Ron, "she's not, is she?"

Harry shook his head again. Exactly what Hagrid would say when he realized his three favorite students had given up his subject, he did not like to think.

Upon reaching the portrait, Harry and Ron hurriedly gave the password to the Fat Lady, and after some snippiness about manners, she allowed them to enter. The common room was littered with noise, movement, and curious first-years who wanted to touch and see everything. Neville was standing by the girl's stairway, surrounded by a small cluster of people, and Harry and Ron headed in that direction.

"She didn't say anything about how she was getting here?" asked Lavender, and Neville shook his head.

"You don't think something awful happened do you?" asked Parvati, her hand nearly covering her mouth in dread.

"Dumbledore would'a said something. Or the Daily Prophet. They haven't been shy about the disappearances going on, have they?" said Seamus.

"Any news?" asked Ron.

"No," said Neville. "The girls went up to check if…"

They came into the room in a line, and at the questioning stares in their direction Hermione, Ginny and Susie shook their heads sadly from side to side.

"What do you mean no?" asked Harry.

"She's not up there. No trunk. Nothing," said Ginny, coming to stand next to Dean.

Hermione didn't like being the bearer of bad news, but Lavender and Parvati would see it soon enough and it was better to know the truth than place hope on a lie.

"The bed's made as if…as if it's meant to stay empty. There aren't any bed sheets on it," said Hermione grimly, ignoring Ginny's glare, who had hoped Hermione would've kept that fact to herself for the sake of hope.

"What?" asked Harry in disbelief.

It felt like a knife had been stabbed into his stomach. _As if it's meant to stay empty_…no, this wasn't happening. Buffy was coming back. She passed her bloody O. and she was coming back! She said she would. They all said she would! Harry didn't know what kind of game Buffy and the Order were playing at, but they were taking it too far. Buffy was coming back, and at the first sight of her he was going to forget she was the Slayer and hang her upside down from the Astronomy Tower.

"Does that – does that mean…?" Susie couldn't bear to finishing asking.

Neville rushed to her side the moment it looked like tears were going to fall.

"No, Susie," he said, wrapping a comforting arm on her shoulders. "I-it just…it…" Neville gave a resigning sigh. "I don't know what it means, but I'm sure Buffy just had some things she needed to finish, but she'll be here. She said she would."

And if wishes were pasties they'd eat for days.

With everything that was occurring, the deaths, the disappearances, didn't Buffy know that now was not the time to be disappearing? She was adding fuel to an already fear-induced fire. The least she could do was drop a 'how do you do?' in their direction. A sign that she was okay. But all she had given them was silence that was most definitely not appreciated.

It was getting late and the day had worn them down. The train ride. The start of term. Buffy missing. The feast. It was all adding up and it equaled exhaustion.

"Well, I don't think there's anything we can do now," said Dean. "It's past curfew and the professors will murder us if they catch us in the corridors."

"And they won't tell us anything even if we asked," said Ginny.

"So…what? We wait till morning and see if she shows up?" asked Ron.

"Have no other choice, do we?" replied Harry.

No, there was no other choice as frustrating as that was.

"She'll be here tomorrow. I'm sure she will," said Lavender with conviction. She then seized Parvati's arm and the girls bade goodnight before heading towards the stairs, and Ron was left mystified at Lavender's smiling, pink face as she looked at him before hurrying up the steps.

The Buffy Search Party began to separate. Girls heading to their stairs and the boys heading to theirs. Ginny gave Dean a kiss on the cheek before he went up and then she went to Neville.

"You really think she's ok, right?"

Neville nodded. "She's Buffy. Even dying doesn't stop her."

Nope, dying was definitely not on obstacle for that girl. Ginny smiled, grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze, needing a little extra affirmation, and then went up the stairs after bidding everyone a goodnight. Everyone else followed suit, and the last ones to leave the common room were Ron and Harry, and as they went up the stairs, Ron couldn't help but ask, "So…what happened to your nose?"

It should be embarrassing to care this much. To sit alone and do nothing but brood about a person. It was almost pathetic. Especially. Since. He wasn't. Supposed. To care.

Draco rubbed his tired eyes. Nobody knew where the hell she was. And it didn't go unnoticed. Everyone seemed to be wondering on the whereabouts of Buffy Summers. The girl who jumped off the broom, who stood up to Umbridge, who defied everything she used to be, was missing, and it was source for ever ending gossip. The teachers made no effort to explain the absence but they didn't look worried. Unlike those who knew her, and they were worried, everyone but Pansy, but Draco could care less what she thought. All Pansy was, was a means to an end. The closer he stuck to her the more he could push and hope to forget.

_"Bonds are easy to break, Draco. Remember what is true. Remember and you will be set free."_

Draco did remember. He remembered ever little bit. Every tiny detail. And anger rose up within him. _Just remember, Draco_. _Remember and you'll be set free._

Why the hell should he care where Buffy was? She was no longer part of his life. If she could break free than so could he. Bonds and friendship be damned. Buffy…be damned.


	12. Chapter 12

**Lessons**

By Amerie

"Double, double, toil and trouble –"

"_Xander_."

"What? It adds to the atmosphere, Wills. Come on, help me out here, Oz-man."

"I think Shakespeare would disapprove."

"Shakespeare's dead."

"You see my point."

"Guys, it's really hard to concentrate when you keep distracting me…especially since I can't actually see what I'm supposed to be adding and going all by touch. It's not an easy thing to do, you know."

"Then flip a switch, Red. Why we gotta brew the stew in the dark anyway?"

"Because it's very subtle. We have to see how the air reacts to it. It's the only way we'll know if it's working."

"Well, that's a stupid way to find out. Where'd you find this spell? Magic for the blind?"

"The blind can't see, Cor, how would that even work?"

"I know. I was being ironic…what? I was."

"Right, so next, I add the rosemary and – Oh, oh! That-that wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Figured with the inferno and all."

"You okay there, Xander?"

"Well, I don't think Mighty Mouse will live to fight another day, but yep, my third-degree burns and I are just fine."

"Good, I always hated that shirt. Thanks, Willow, you did everyone a favor. And by everyone, I mean me."

"Sorry, Xander. I-I'll buy you a new one. I-I promise."

"Don't worry about it, Will. Just whip me up some new skin and I'll be good to go."

"Shelley would approve."

"Shelley would think we were crazy."

"So…back to square one?"

"Back to square one."

"God, I hate magic."

It was empty. All of it. No trunk. No bed sheets. No Buffy. The entirety of Buffy's side of the room was empty.

"So…what does it mean?"

Hermione always had all the answers. She was quick with a response to every question. Except this one. Because she had no clue what it meant. No idea. And there was no way to find the answer because those who held it refused to reveal their secret.

"I don't know," she said to Susie.

Susie's blue eyes stared sadly at Buffy's empty bed. She still felt guilty over Buffy's expulsion last year, and what if…what if they couldn't reverse it? What if, despite what everyone said, she couldn't return to Hogwarts? It would be all her fault. Just like before.

"Come on," said Ginny, grabbing a hold of Susie's hands. "The boys will want to know."

It was early in the morning, but the boys were awake. Neville, Harry and, a still sleepy, Ron were gathered in the empty common room, where the girls soon joined them. But by the looks on their faces, and the fact they were missing a particular girl from the bunch, they knew exactly what had happened

"She's not up there," stated Harry, not needing to ask a question.

Ginny shook her head in confirmation. A sad, tired shake that reflected how they felt. Their anger and annoyance was dwindling, now they were beginning to feel tired of the game. They were very close to resigning to the possibility that –

"Maybe she isn't coming back," said Ron, and everyone stared at him. It was a horrible suggestion, and Ron didn't like to be the voice of pessimism, at least not anymore when it came to Buffy, but in the face of things as they were it appeared to be a very good possibility. And someone needed to say it. "Let's face it. She would've been here by now. We haven't heard from her in weeks. What if she chose to stay…" _in Sunnydale,_ he had wanted to say, but then he remembered that Susie was in the room and quickly changed course, "stay away?"

The realization of it hit hard. It was an option they hadn't let themselves dwell on too long, but was turning into a very real probability. Most of them had seen Buffy in Sunnydale and she looked happy – free of any restraints the Wizarding world had placed upon her. She could slay when she wished, not hide who she was, and there was no Voldemort there, no Death Eaters and dementors to swallow the sun that shined on Sunnydale despite its Hellmouth and demons. She looked very much at home, and if home was where the heart is…

"But why keep lying to us?" asked Ginny. "Why not tell us what's going on? Tell us she isn't coming back?"

"Maybe they thought she was," Harry rationalized. "She could've changed her mind."

Yes, she could've. She could've very well decided to stay on the Hellmouth where they needed her the most. Despite her grumblings about her Calling, Buffy followed through with her responsibilities. She put her duty before all else. And if she thought they needed her more in Sunnydale than at Hogwarts, there was a very good chance –

"No," said Neville, shaking his head. "I-It has to be something else. I know it. Buffy wouldn't disappear for no reason. She would've told us."

But what if she couldn't? Just because she wasn't dead didn't mean she wasn't hurt. Incapacitated somehow.

Susie's eyes widened. "You don't think something happened to her do you?"

It was a question they had pondered so much and so many times that it had nearly lost all meaning.

"No," answered Ginny. "That's one thing we're sure of. If something did happen, they would've said. Her not being here…I think…I think Ron may be right. Maybe she decided to stay where she was."

"And where's that?"

A lump settled in Ginny's stomach at the thought. Of how she had seen Buffy in Sunnydale and had appeared happy and confident in her surroundings.

"Home," she replied, her throat thick, and the implication of that word resonated in all those who knew the deep seated roots of the word for the Slayer.

Ginny was tired of talking about it, of thinking about, but she still had some hope. She could be patient. It was one of her greatest virtues after all.

"Come on," said Ginny, grabbing Susie's hand and leading the second-year away. "Breakfast'll start soon. We should go get ready."

The girls went upstairs, soon followed by Neville as he went up to his room with a very preoccupied look on his face.

Harry Potter had hated Buffy Summers for nearly two years after they first met. But then the Chamber of Secrets happened and she helped saved his life. And then he got to know her and they wrote letters and formed a friendship he valued more than words could say. And after that bond was formed, suddenly, out of the blue, she took it away. He didn't hear from her for months, not until he saw her again when she returned to Hogwarts last year. And when he demanded she explain her absence, she gave the most honest answer she could give him…

_"Life. The hard, messed up, crazy kind. I never meant to stop writing, to stop talking to you, but…there was just so much going on that I just – I lost myself, for a while, and I let so many things slip away from me."_

She had lost herself, and looking back at what he now knew, Harry could only imagine what Buffy could be going through this time. Was she hurting? Was she lonely? Was she closing herself off because no one understood? But Harry could, if she'd let him, he could understand more than anyone else, all she had to do was give a sign, a letter, a word, that she needed him. But knowing Buffy, and her tendency to seclude herself in her emotions, Harry was starting to think that maybe he needed to fight just a little harder, try a little more, hang on a little longer and maybe…

"Harry?" Hermione asked softly. "Do you think –?"

"I don't – I don't know," he said, but there was a resolve in his tone. "But we need to find out. Even if she chose to stay in Sunnydale, something feels off. She wouldn't stay silent like this. She wouldn't abandon her friends without an explanation. And I don't care if we have to find every single member of the Order, but someone is going to tell us what's going on. Even if we have to go all the way to Sunnydale."

Harry just needed to hang on a little longer and maybe – no definitely, he'd definitely get his answers. No matter what it took.

_It's not that I don't trust her, I just don't know her enough, I guess. But…I don't know, maybe we might get there…eventually._ Eventually…apparently _eventually_ wasn't so far off into future, because Buffy wasn't here and Ron was worried. Caring about Buffy's wellbeing was still a new thing to feel, but feel it he did, and Ron didn't try to fight it off. He wanted to know that Buffy was okay and why she wasn't here. She was…she was his friend – almost at least, and Ron definitely did not like the fact that she was missing.

Hermione was a girl who spoke her mind. She was sure in her feelings. And she was sure Buffy was now considered her friend. There was no wavering or teetering, it was absolute. The past was past and Hermione had moved forward. She had come to care, but now was not the time to dwell on that because Harry was talking about going to Sunnydale when he couldn't even Apparate to the next room, so she had to be the voice of reason and tell Harry that what he wanted to do was impossible, and prohibited, but with the look on Harry's face she knew that all it would accomplish was a waste of her breath, so she decided that distracting him from his plan was the best thing to do…at least for now.

"Harry, you never told me what happened on the train."

The distraction worked. Harry pushed Buffy aside from his thoughts and told Hermione everything that happened, but it did not get the result he had hoped for. Like Ron, Hermione believed that Malfoy was lying in order to impress. They still wouldn't believe that Voldemort would choose someone like Malfoy for anything let alone allowing him to join the Death Eaters, the elite of dark wizards, and Harry was frustrated at their lack of support, even after Harry had explained to them what Buffy had said back in Sunnydale, but the conversation had to be cut short, and he couldn't say any more, because students began to filter into the common room and any hope of privacy was dashed. Nevertheless, one way or another, Harry was going to convince his friends, he only hoped they would come to believe him before it was too late.

Gossip at Hogwarts always spread like wildfire. It didn't flicker, it engulfed from the first drop of juicy gossip that passed between two sets of lips. And it never ended how it began, because along the way people seemed to like to twist and spice up a rumor to keep it from fading into obscurity until it held only the smallest grain of truth from whence it came.

_'Buffy Summers still isn't here.'_

_'Her bed's not even in her dormitory anymore.'_

_'It's because she didn't pass her O. .'_

_'She isn't returning to Hogwarts.'_

_'I heard she was taken by Death Eaters.'_

_'They said she and her mum left the country and that You-Know-Who is looking for them.'_

It simmered in the Gryffindor common room and boiled over to every house before most of the school had settled down for breakfast; and it was only a matter of time before the news reached Draco's ears.

"And? Why would I care if she isn't here?"

Pansy's eyes started to sparkle and her smile grew. The girl was practically glowing.

"Well, I just thought you'd like to know in case you wondered why she wasn't at breakfast. But I should've known you wouldn't've cared. Are you hungry? Did you wanna go down to breakfast together?"

Draco's jaw clenched. It would be a whole lot easier for him to be nicer to Pansy if she wasn't so damn annoying. If she didn't take so much joy in…in things he didn't care about. But he convinced himself that if he couldn't be nice, he could at least be civil, and that was a start.

"I'm not hungry. You go ahead. I'll see you in class."

He shouldn't start the day with an empty stomach; Draco was a very important man now. He had duties, but Pansy wasn't going to nag. He didn't like it when she nagged.

"Okay, I'll keep an apple for you then," she said, and Draco pulled on his patience and gave a brief nod.

Pansy rushed toward her friends, excited once again at Draco's agreeable behavior that her smile had no plans on leaving her face as the girls set out for the first day's meal in a fit of gossip and giggles.

There were still a few bodies milling around when Theodore came into the common room. He spotted Draco in his usual chair by the fireplace, and after hearing about Buffy's absence from Hogwarts, Theodore wanted to hear something a little more solid than '_Dumbledore kicked Buffy out because she was really a Death Eater_' as the reason of why she wasn't here.

"Did you hear about Buffy?" he asked.

"Yeah, so?" Draco replied, not even a glance in his direction.

"Do you know why?"

"No."

"Do you know if she's coming back?"

There was a pause. "No."

Theodore didn't need and didn't like longwinded explanations. He got the answers he was looking for and that's all he needed. But that didn't mean he didn't notice Draco's behavior. His short answers when he usually gave out lengthy ones just to hear himself talk. The fact that he seemed uncaring that his best friend was missing and no one knew where she was. Or the slight gesture he made of clenching his left fist when he heard Buffy's name. All those actions answered questions Theodore hadn't asked, and wasn't going to ask, because it was none of his business. So he let Draco be and went out to join the rest of the school in the morning's meal, and maybe catch any news about Buffy's whereabouts. They may no longer be seeing each other, but that didn't mean he didn't care. Buffy was still his friend, not in the typical 'chat every day, owl each other, say hi to the parents for me' kind of way, but they knew where they stood. And it worried him that no one seemed to know where, or how, she was.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. There was chatter and the sounds of people eating, but for one small group, at the end of the Gryffindor table, breakfast was a subdued affair. They were quiet, barely touching their food, so lost in their thoughts that they didn't notice the wisp of girl with dirty, blonde hair that had come to stand near them until she spoke, "Good morning, everyone!"

And even then they didn't look up.

"Good morning, Luna."

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Either she hadn't heard, or was in her own Luna-world to care, that Buffy wasn't at Hogwarts. But no one wanted to dispel her from her cheery mood and chose not to mention it. She would notice and bring it up sooner or later.

Glancing up, Hermione finally noticed that Luna wasn't alone. "I didn't know you had a cat, Luna?"

At the mention of the cat everyone turned to the Ravenclaw, and settled in her arms was a fluffy, golden tabby with luminous forest-green eyes. It appeared as if it was full grown but very small for its age. Almost midway between cat and kitten.

"Oh, she's not mine. She found me on my way to breakfast. She's very beautiful don't you think?" she said as she scratched behind the cat's ear who seemed to enjoy it very much. "It's wonderful how one can happen on things when they least expect to," she said and drifted off toward her table, and no one questioned it as they were now fondly accustomed to Luna's 'pearls of wisdom and then leave' behavior.

"Look, McGonagall's coming this way," said Ron.

The distribution of class schedules was more complicated for those in their sixth year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everyone had achieved the necessary O.W.L grades to continue with their chosen N.E. .

"All right, Miss Granger, let's sort you out first, shall we?"

They were teeming with questions, and McGonagall must have sensed it, because a very stern, no-nonsense look appeared on her face that prevented them from opening their mouths about anything but their schedules. McGonagall could be very frightening when she wanted to be.

Hermione was soon cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first period Ancient Runes class without further ado.

Neville took a little longer to sort out, but in the end he was set in Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, History of Magic, Charms, and, to his and his grandmother's great pride, Transfiguration. And at receiving his schedule, he left the table for his first class.

Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze was still teaching Divination.

"He and Professor Trelawney are dividing classes between them this year," said Professor McGonagall, a hint of disapproval in her voice; it was common knowledge that she despised the subject of Divination. "The sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney."

Looking slightly crestfallen, Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later. Apparently Trelawney was no longer her favorite Divination teacher.

"So, Potter, Potter…" said Professor McGonagall, consulting her notes as she turned to Harry.

"Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration… all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased. Now, why haven't you applied to continue with Potions? I thought it was your ambition to become an Auror?"

"It was, but you told me I had to get an 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L, Professor."

"And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching the subject. Professor Slughorn, however, is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T students with 'Exceeds Expectations' at O.W.L Do you wish to proceed with Potions?"

"Yes," said Harry, "but I didn't buy the books or any ingredients or anything –"

"I'm sure Professor Slughorn will be able to lend you some," said Professor McGonagall. "Very well, Potter, here is your schedule. Oh, by the way – twenty hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass the list to you in due course and you can fix up trials at your leisure."

A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of them left the table together.

"Look," said Ron delightedly, gazing at his schedule, "we've got a free period now…and a free period after break…and after lunch…excellent."

They returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year.

"I thought you'd get that, well done," she called over, pointing at the Captains badge on Harry's chest. "Tell me when you call trials!"

"Don't be stupid," said Harry, "you don't need to try out, I watched you play for five years…"

"You mustn't start off like that," she said warningly. "For all you know, there's someone much better than me out there. Good teams have been ruined before because Captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends…"

Ron looked a little uncomfortable and began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from a fourth-year student on their way to breakfast earlier that morning. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshanks' yellow eyes following it and hissing when it came too close.

Katie must've sense Ron's discomfort because she reminded Harry again to let her know when Quidditch trials were going to be held before turning back to her friends.

"Isn't that the cat Luna had earlier?" said Ron, pointing to the golden tabby that was grooming itself in the middle of the room. The cat perked up as if she noticed their attention and then sprinted in their direction. Purring and circling Harry's legs.

"She seems to like you, Harry," said Ron amused.

"She's probably looking for her owner."

The cat followed the pair as they made their way to the couch to rest up for their first class, and the tabby jumped onto the cushion next to Harry, before curling up by his side.

"Okay, she really seems to like you."

Harry smiled a little and began to scratch the cat behind her ears like Luna had done earlier. He then began to scratch her neck when he felt something solid hidden in her fur. It was a delicate, gold chain with a small, gold locket at the anchor of it. Harry meant to take a closer look when the cat suddenly straightened up, perked its ears in attention and then leapt off the couch, dashing out through the portrait hole just as two more students came in.

"That was odd," Ron commented.

"Probably heard a mouse or something."

"Or Neville's toad."

An hour later, Ron and Harry reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione and Neville were already queuing outside, where it looked like Neville was helping Hermione with an armful of heavy books.

"We got so much homework for Runes," she said anxiously when Harry and Ron joined them. "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I've got to read these by Wednesday!"

"Shame," yawned Ron.

"You wait," she said resentfully. "I bet Snape gives us loads."

The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow, irritated looking face framed by two curtains of greasy, black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.

"Inside," he ordered.

The line of students looked around the room as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and the space was lit by candlelight. Their eyes were glued to the new pictures that adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts.

"I know. Creepy, right?"

Their hearts stopped. And their heads whipped so fast that the pictures they were staring at blurred before their eyes. It was like a mirage in the desert. It was almost unreal. Because there Buffy was, sitting calmly in a desk, wearing her Hogwarts uniform with her golden hair shining in the gloomy room, looking as if she had not a care in the world.

"Hey, guys. What's new?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Lessons**

By Amerie

"You could've at least cleaned up before I got here."

"Why? I knew you'd be arriving today."

Joyce's blood pressure rose. The living room was a mess. In one day Sirius managed to leave dirty clothes and shoes on the floor, newspaper over the couch and chairs, and dirty dishes and flatware on the table, under the table, next to the table. God only knew what the kitchen looked like.

"I don't know if it's escaped your notice but I am not a house-elf. If you plan on staying here you will need to clean up your own messes." Sirius snorted, actually snorted, as if the idea was laughable, as if he really believed Joyce would actually jump at his beck and call. Yes, she had been a soft touch in Sunnydale and cleaned up a little after him, but he was on his good behavior as well and not tried to be messy either. But that was Sunnydale, they were on vacation, and now they were home, back to the real world, and Sirius was under the impression he had inherited some sort of maid. And that had her seeing red. "Sirius Black, if you think for one second that I am going to let you make a mess of this house, and expect me to clean up after you, you can go back to the Department of Mysteries and jump through that Veil right now before I even begin to express what will happen to you if I see one dirty sock on the floor."

Oh, she was mad. Very mad. He hadn't meant to make her mad, but now was not the time for excuses; Sirius needed some serious damage control. He rose from the couch, and with his most charismatic smile, placed his hands on her hips, and said in the sweetest voice, "You're so beautiful when you're angry."

And Joyce was having none of it.

"Clean up this room," she said and turned toward the kitchen.

A sigh escaped him. He was definitely losing his touch.

"Are you at least going to tell me if things in Sunnydale got sorted?!" he bellowed after her.

"Can you see your reflection on the coffee table?!"

"No!"

"Then no!"

_Women!_ Begrudgingly, and with much noise, Sirius began to clean up his mess from the cherry wood coffee table.

"We're not even bloody married yet, and she's already – OW! HEY!"

At the sudden hot zap to his behind, Sirius nearly dropped the plates in his hands.

"I heard that!" Joyce shouted from the kitchen.

He stuck out his tongue in her direction like a good little adult and went back to his cleaning. But Sirius being Sirius was never one to learn his lesson.

"Ears like a damn werewolf that one," he mumbled before another zap burned his butt. "STOP THAT!"

"Buffy!"

Before another word could escape her lips, Buffy found herself tightly in the arms of one Neville Longbottom. She couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. Enthusiasm that wouldn't let go of her even as she stood from her chair with a Neville-band wrapped around her.

"Neville, blood eventually has to return to my limbs for them to work."

His smile stretched even wider at her sarcasm, and with a final squeeze he let her go. Giving Buffy just enough breathing room before Hermione launched herself forward.

"And hello to you, too, Hermione."

"We didn't think you were coming back," she said as she unwrapped her arms.

Buffy furrowed her brow. "Didn't they tell you I was gonna be late?"

"They wouldn't tell us much of anything, really, only that you would be here. And when we asked they weren't very forthcoming with information. Hi, Buffy," said Ron, smiling shyly.

"Hello," she said with a smile and turned to a set of relieved eyes. "Hey, you."

So much for hanging her off the Astronomy Tower by her ankles. At the first of Buffy, Harry forgot all his anger and was filled with such a sense of relief that he had forgotten how worried he was in the first place.

"Hey," he said.

As more students began to take notice of the resurrected Buffy Summers (if they only knew), her attention began to stray every which way. Waving. Smiling. A hug here. A hello there. She was creating quite the little scene, but it was a scene that did not include a single Slytherin. Especially white-blond headed ones.

Pansy could not be more pleased. Not only was Draco completely ignoring Buffy, but it seemed he was actually angry at the mere presence of her. He seemed to flinch every time he heard Buffy's voice or heard her name. His eyes refused to stray in the snotty little blonde's direction since noticing her when he entered the room. It was brilliant.

"I was hoping she'd been gone forever," said Pansy, her gaze on Buffy but watching Draco out of the corner of her eye for his reaction.

"She should've stayed away," he mumbled, but there was no venom in his voice. It was soft, restrained, like a wish he was being forced to make.

The very first moment, the very first glimpse of her and a lump appeared in Draco's throat, a crack was made in his resolve. It was easier to pretend when Buffy was a just a memory, a face in his mind, but seeing her, flesh, blood and bone, was making everything difficult, and it was only going to get worse. Funny how three years ago he would've given anything to have her back, to have her light up his hollow life, but now, all he wanted was to never see her again.

"When did you get here?" Hermione asked as soon as Buffy was given a little space from the belated reunion of her friends. "Your trunk wasn't in your room this morning. Why weren't you on the train? Did something happen? Is everything alright? Did something happen with the Order? Or Sunnydale?"

Buffy's eyes widened. _Woah, question overload_.

"Give the girl a chance to sort herself out, Hermione," Ron said.

Hermione only had the fleeting chance to glare at Ron before a deep, commanding voice flowed over them.

"I'm sure, Miss Summers, has a _riveting_ tale to tell, but we must forcefully restrain ourselves until after class," said Snape, looking at the group with his ever present disdain. "Take your seats," he ordered, his eyes straying on Buffy a bit longer before moving on.

Hermione and Neville immediately settled into said seats while Harry, Ron and Buffy languidly took their spots. The rest of the dillydallying students quickly settled into their desks, warily watching Professor Snape as he moved to the front of the room.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, moving to face the class from behind his desk; Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

How about just a blank stare? Because that was all Buffy could manage at the moment.

Snape proceeded to give a long, repetitive, explanation of the many different teachers that have passed through the D.A.D.A teaching position, and because of it he was so surprised that there were so many students who managed to scrape an O.W.L in the subject, and how surprised he would be if they somehow managed to keep up with the N.E.W.T work at all, which will be more advanced apparently. Yep, a real confidence booster the man was. He should play conventions.

As Snape spoke, and Buffy continued to ignore, she looked over her shoulder, two desks back, to where Draco was sitting. And purposely not looking in her direction. She knew he wasn't going to be all hugs at seeing her again. He would've kept his distance, but he would've done something, given some sort of sign, most likely given her that Draco-smirk she had come to cherish. But nothing. He didn't smile or wave or hello. And it stung, but it worried her more than anything. Something was…off. He knew she was looking. She read it in his actions like a well-worn book. The tense jaw and shoulders. The hand tightly gripping the edge of the desk. He was trying not to look at her. He was avoiding her. He had been all summer. Not a single response to any letter she sent, and now this. Question was: why?

"The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Harry stared at Snape as he slowly made his way around the room. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, and another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice.

"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" – he indicated a few of them as he swept past – "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" – he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony – "feel the Dementor's Kiss" – a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall – "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" – a bloody mass upon ground.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" asked Parvati in a high pitched voice. "Is it definite, is _he_ using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," said Snape, "which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now…" He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him. "… most of you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells." He turned his gaze to Buffy, letting it rest for a second longer than normal, and she met him eye for defiant eye. "What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice, before saying curtly, "Very well – Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," said Snape dismissively, "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some" – his gaze lingered maliciously upon Harry once more – "lack."

Harry knew Snape was thinking of their disastrous Occlumency lessons of the previous year. He refused to drop his gaze, but glowered at Snape until Snape looked away.

"You will now divide into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

Noise, though very reserved, emanated in the room. Chairs and desks were scrapped off to the side as students began to pair off.

The quintet of three boys and two girls, however, had a little trouble with the pairing off.

"Okay, so who's with –?"

"Miss Summers. A word," Snape ordered.

The sentence died in her mouth, and Buffy nearly shuddered in irritation. "Oh, goodie, _a word_."

Leaving her bemused friends, Buffy walked over to Mr. Overly-Dramatic, who was standing _ominously_ near his desk. Knowing exactly what _word_ he was referring to, and what choice _word_ she so wished she could say.

Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, ten minutes into the lesson, Hermione managed to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word. Despite the very heavy distraction.

"What do you think they're talking about?" asked Ron, after blocking Harry's jinx, verbally of course, but still.

"I don't know, but she does not look happy," replied Harry.

No, Buffy did not look happy. She looked annoyed, angry and downright put out from whatever conversation she was having with Snape, whose back was all they could see from their point of view.

"D-do you think it has something to do with her not being here yesterday?" asked Neville, watching as Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes.

"Don't know. Whatever it is, Buffy doesn't seem to be in the mood to discuss it," answered Hermione.

Not being in the mood was putting it lightly. It seemed Buffy was getting more frustrated by the second, and her body language was making that known, not caring if she was directing it to one of her professors.

"Fred and George's Ears could've been really useful right about now," said Harry.

"Yea," agreed Ron with a nod. "Guess we'll have to do it the old fashioned way then."

Little by little, as inconspicuously as possible, Harry and Ron moved towards Snape's desk, 'Jinxing' and 'Shielding' along the way. Ron leading a backwards-walking Harry closer and closer until the young Mister Potter was close enough to clearly pick up on the quiet conversation.

"I can deal with it on my own."

"Yes, as you've done so many times in the past," said Snape, a tint of mockery in his voice. Something Buffy did not appreciate.

"It's my responsibility. And I'm taking care of it. I don't need –"

_ Uh-oh_. Ron went completely still the moment Buffy stopped talking and her eyes narrowed at the back of Harry's head, and his eyes widened in alarm when those same eyes met his gaze. Guess they weren't as sneaky as they thought.

Were they kidding?! Buffy loved her friends, she really did, but sometimes she wished that they would mind their own damn business once in a while. It was bad enough Snape couldn't wait until after class for this little discussion, but now this? What ever happened to privacy? This was exactly what she had hoped to avoid. This was why should've never told Dumbledore. This was why she should always handle things on her own. This was why should've never left Sunnydale.

She dropped midsentence and that made Snape suspicious. Her line of sight was no longer on him, but past him, to a focal point beyond his shoulder. He was set to turn when Buffy continued on.

"I don't need your help," she said, though the volume of her voice was now lower. "I'm handling it."

Snape had his assumptions as to what, or more precisely whom, had sidetracked her, but he let the inquisition pass.

"There's more at stake then you realize, Miss Summers."

Despite her anger, and her annoyance, hearing those words (as she's heard them and known them so many times before) deflated Buffy into a state of spiritual fatigue. She could almost feel the headache returning; feel the exhaustion of many sleepless nights to come; feel the weight of the world as it pressed down on her shoulders once again.

"There always is."

Buffy knew. She always knew. That's what they didn't understand. She was the Slayer, damn it. The one at the forefront. And despite the fact that they claimed to accept her position, they still treated her like she was a newbie to the game, when in fact she was the one who set the rules. It was her job. A job she did well and she wished that everyone in the Wizarding world would let her do it, because at the end of the day it was her responsibility. And this time it wasn't just because she was the Slayer.

Snape sensed the change in Buffy's mood, and he grabbed onto whatever mercy was left in him to ease away from the subject. He could've very well asked her to stay after class to discuss things, but he thought he knew the girl well. Trapping her, with nowhere to turn, seemed like the best option to gain the information he wanted, but it only spurred her defenses and she rebuffed his requests. Denying him any information Dumbledore hadn't already told him. She had placed a wall between them and Snape had no other alternative but to relent…for the moment.

"You cannot prevent this alone. I may not be very familiar with the matter, but I do possess a variety of volumes that may hold the answer. Should you require them."

It was as close to a sincere offering of assistance as Buffy was ever going to get from this man, and she really didn't know how to feel about it. Like the majority of the Order, Buffy still didn't fully trust Snape. There was always that feeling that he was hiding something, and it made her uneasy; wary of any assistance he may offer, and she refused to trust him unless she absolutely had to. This was definitely not one of those 'had to' moments.

They stared silently at each other. Snape's last words feeling like a bookend to the conversation, and Buffy made no attempt to comment so much as a 'thank you' for his offer. Not as if he was expecting one. He silently excused her, in the way professors had the ability to do, and she turned away without hesitation, heading back to where the rest of pupils played.

"Is everything okay?" asked Neville upon her arrival.

"Fine," she said quickly, wiping away any tension from her face. She eyed Harry and Ron, who were of course concentrating very hard on the assigned exercise and could not look at her at the moment, because, yeah, that was believable, and wondered how much of her conversation with Snape they had heard; though it must not have been much, what with their lack of questions and troubled glances. Buffy just hoped to keep it that way.

Snape swept between the students as they practiced, looking just as much like an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and Ron struggling with the task.

Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. "Here – let me show you –"

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, "Protego!"

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor." The words had escaped him before he knew what he was saying. Several people gasped, including Hermione and Neville. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively, and Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter…not even 'the Chosen One.'"

Once class was over, and they were on their way to break a short while later, Buffy couldn't help but tell Harry, "You know it's times like that that make me wonder why we still let you talk."

"That was brilliant, Harry!" chortled Ron

"You really shouldn't have said it," said Hermione, frowning at Ron. "What made you?"

"He tried to jinx me, in case you didn't notice!" fumed Harry. "I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn't he use another guinea pig for a change? What's Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defense? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff –"

"Well," said Hermione, "I thought he sounded a bit like you."

"Like me?"

"Yes, when you were telling us what it's like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn't just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts – well, wasn't that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"

Harry was so disarmed that she had thought his words were worth memorizing as much as The Standard Book of Spells that he did not argue.

Smiling a little at his stunned silence, Buffy decided that a change of subject was in order.

"So any new buzz inside these stony hallowed halls? You know since I missed any major convo yesterday?"

"Nothing much, except Harry seems to think Dra –" said Ron, before Harry's elbow jammed itself into his side.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly, giving Ron and Hermione a look to not argue. "It's nothing. Just an idea I had, but I've change my mind about it."

Buffy raised a skeptical eyebrow, the only gesture she could manage before she heard the call of her name.

"Buffy!"

Ginny and Luna were standing in the middle of a crowded hallway, but the smiles on their faces at seeing their friend shown like a beacon, and without a second thought, Buffy grabbed Neville and sprinted over to them.

"What was that for?" asked Ron as he rubbed his side as soon as Buffy was out of earshot – even for a slayer.

"I don't want Buffy knowing about Draco. At least not yet," he nearly whispered.

"Why not?" asked Hermione. "I would think out of anyone she would be the one to find out the truth."

"Maybe," he answered, his eyes fixed on the Slayer. "But she'd also punch me in the face for even thinking it." And get her heart broken when she found out how right Harry knew he was. "I just wanna be sure before she knows anything."

Ron and Hermione may not agree with Harry's 'Draco's a Death Eater' theory, but they had to agree with omitting that theory from Buffy. Given her violent nature when angry, accusing one of her dearest friends as being a Death Eater didn't seem like the brightest, or safest, thing to do – at least not without solid proof. Proof Harry was in desperate need of.

Harry felt it in his bones. Malfoy was a Death Eater. He was sure of it. But it wasn't until Ron was about to reveal Harry's suspicions to Buffy that he realized that Malfoy being a Death Eater could be hurtful to someone he knew – someone he cared for. Buffy would be angry with the implication and devastated with the truth. Voldemort and his followers had wounded her deeply, had harmed the people she loved, and to discover that one of her closest friends had chosen to join Voldemort would be the ultimate betrayal. Something she may never recover from. Harry was not going to put her through that, not until he was absolutely, irrefutably sure and had the evidence to prove it.

Ginny nearly squeezed the life out of Buffy, before abruptly releasing her, and with a scowl on her face, demanded, "You have got some serious explaining to do."

Buffy knew she should feel remorse for how she had handled things, for keeping them in the dark for so long, but at this moment, after all she had been through, she was so relieved to be in the presence of her oblivious friends that she could only smile at Ginny's frown.

"Yeah, I know," was all she said.

"You _know_," she mocked, "that's not much of an explanation."

And she smiled again. "Later, I promise," she vowed and turned to give the girl next to her a hug. "Luna."

"She's lovely," Luna nearly whispered and Buffy knew exactly what she was referring to.

"Thanks," she replied and gave her tight squeeze in appreciation of her compliment before letting go.

"Well, Miss Secrets, are you at least going to tell us when you got here?" asked Ginny.

Buffy turned to her curios inquisitor again. "Um, I don't know…around breakfast, I think?"

"The girls said your stuff wasn't in the dormitory," Neville pointed out.

"Oh, yeah, there was this mix-up with the house-elves but Dumbledore sorted it out."

"So if I were to go to your room right now all your stuff would be there?" Ginny inquired warily.

"Yes."

"Honest?"

Buffy smiled. "Yes. It's there. I'm here. I'm not leaving anytime soon."

Ginny gave a curt nod. "Okay, then. But I still have questions."

"I'm sure you do," Buffy said.

"Lunchtime?"

"I'm all yours."

_Dear Harry, _

_I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8 P.M. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school. _

_Yours sincerely, _

_Albus Dumbledore _

_P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops. _

"He enjoys Acid Pops?" said Ron, reading the parchment Jack Sloper had just given to Harry.

"It's the password to get past the gargoyle outside his study," answered Harry in a low voice. "Ha! Snape's not going to be pleased…I won't be able to do his detention!"

"Skipping detention already are we?"  
>Harry looked up and saw Buffy, Neville, Luna and Ginny standing before him.<p>

"You already got detention?" Ginny asked.

"It's Snape," said Harry by way of a yes and turned to Buffy, "and excused actually."

"Dumbledore?" she said, and Buffy knew she was right, she just didn't want them to know how she knew she was right.

Ron's eyebrows pulled together. "How'd you know?"

She shrugged. "Lucky guess. Who else has the power to override Mr. All-Up-In-My-Business?"

He was lurking. Just in the edges of her vision. Buffy could see him. She could sense him. But he was ignoring her. Refusing to look at her. Despite the fact that Draco felt himself wanting to be near her. Despite everything. Even if he didn't look at her or talk to her, he wanted to be close because she was…she was Buffy, and Draco allowed himself to be selfish and forget what he knew, forget his anger and newfound loyalty, he wanted to be selfish for a little while and pretend that nothing had changed, pretend that Buffy was still his best friend.

"All up in your business?" asked Ginny.

Buffy eyed Harry and Ron, who suddenly became very fascinated with their surroundings, before answering, "Long story."

"Lunchtime?"

"Yes."

"What's lunchtime?" inquired Hermione.

"A time of day when people usually eat lunch," Buffy cheekily replied, and Hermione, who was now completely comfortable around Buffy's presence, gave her the kind of chiding looks she gave Ron, and Buffy didn't know whether to smile or hide.

"It's Buffy's Great Adventure," said Ginny and they were still confused.

So Neville felt the need to clarify. "B-Buffy said she was going to answer all of Ginny's questions during lunch."

See, now, was that so hard?

"Really?" asked Harry and Buffy gave a nod in confirmation. "Is it only Ginny? Because, honestly, there's a few things I'd like answered myself?"

"Me, too," said Neville.

"So would I," Hermione added.

And Buffy suddenly felt like she had led herself into a room filled with large cartoon bombs and struck a match.

Note: I want to thank anyone...someone?...who's still interested at all in this long delayed, updated sequel. It really was never my intention to put it off for so long. I was so uninspired to continue writing anything, despite the fact that I had it all planned out in my head. For those who write I think you can understand how exhausting it could be ;) But if anyone still is interested I will try to make my updates quicker.

Quick FYI: I decided to write my fanfictions for the sake of my love of the characters, the potential of crossing their worlds, my general love of writing and curiosity, and because I find it fun. That is all, you can go back to work now :)


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